


(Lifting) The Fog of Misery

by fairytale_bliss



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M, Mild Sexual Content, mild angst and fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2020-10-30 02:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 55,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20806799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytale_bliss/pseuds/fairytale_bliss
Summary: Oneshots based on Anna and John's relationship, from the fledgling days of friendship to the horror of his imprisonment, stretching beyond into their happy life together.





	1. Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Originally posted between June 2012 and August 2014.

_ (Lifting) The Fog of Misery _

_1\. Sacrifice_

He lies in the darkness of his cramped prison room, staring blindly at the ceiling. Mere hours before his life is set to end, he can’t sleep. So he thinks. And reflects. And decides.

Anna has given up so much for him. Too much. He doesn’t understand it. In a distant time—a time that seems a lifetime ago, when in reality it is only a few years—she gave up the right to a proper courtship; he’d been cautious about being open about their relationship at the beginning, knowing all-too well what people would say. Married. Damaged. Unworthy. He hadn’t been able to bear the thought of the servants whispering about Anna’s virtue, wagering between themselves that she was no better than a whore to cavort with such a man. There had to be something in it, they’d say. Money or suchlike. No one in their right mind would ever fall in love with the crippled valet, especially not a young, pretty housemaid who was almost twenty years his junior. He’d worried that they wouldn’t be able to understand how pure and true Anna’s heart was, how utterly selfless she was. He’d vowed that he would not be the one to bring any unjust judgement down on her head, and had told her that they couldn’t have what other couples who were walking out together could. She’d accepted his reluctance to court her openly with complete grace, acting the image of propriety at all times when they were out and about in the village together, even when he knew that she longed to take his arm and claim him as her own.

She almost gave up so much of herself when she found him skulking in Kirkbymoorside. Despite her initial coolness when they’d been reunited (and how could he ever blame her for that after what she’d endured at his hands?), it had not taken her long at all to forgive him and offer herself to him as nothing more than a mistress, a cheap, worthless version of the wife who ought not to have been his at all. His heart had bled for her in those moments when she had laid herself bare to him and trusted him so implicitly with herself. He’d looked into her eyes and seen the sincerity there, the willingness to throw everything that she’d ever known away, to alienate herself from the people who she loved so that she could be with him. There had been a part of him that had been tempted, that had longed to say yes, to take her back to the tiny room that he was renting, to make her his wife in body if not in anything else, but that thought had quickly been chased away. He’d vowed that no matter what he would not be reduced to that, to treating her like a whore who did not get paid at the end of the time. Because, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that he’d be making her his wife, he wouldn’t. Not until he’d placed a ring on her finger.

She gave up so much when he married her. He knows that and she knows that, even if she will never admit it to him. It can’t be easy, being married to a murderer. There hasn’t been anything about it in the papers, she tells him, but the news will be known locally. He can only imagine the gossip, the sneers, the whispers that circulate as she walks past them. Wife of a convicted murderer. Perhaps a willing accomplice—the first wife had been an obstacle to their marriage, after all. She tells him that she can handle anything for him, that she has the strength to get through the days because she has his name and the ring on her finger, but he can’t see how it helps. A snatched moment of happiness is all they’ve ever been allowed to know, and one night in a room that they couldn’t even call their own cannot be enough to satisfy.

And yet…and yet it must be. Anna will never know the comfort of a warm embrace in the middle of the night, or the joys of a family life with him. He should never have allowed her to sacrifice so much for him. But he did. Because he is a weak man. A worthless man.

Anna has given up so much to stay by his side. But, lying in his dark prison bed, staring at the ceiling as his knee burns and sleep continues to elude him, he vows that she will not sacrifice her life after he has gone. He will convince her to go on living, to live and dream and love. He will beg her to find a nice man who will be able to offer her more than he ever has. She is young and beautiful and need not ever breathe word of him again. He can be forgotten, a ghost, a faded memory of a time best forgotten. Anna will be able to move on, seek out better opportunities. Perhaps she will even be graced with children. Anna is destined to be a mother. Seeing her with Ethel’s Charlie had seemed like the most natural sight in the world. But the children she bears won’t be his. They will be someone else’s. Perhaps even Mr. Molesley’s. And, as much as it hurts him to think about her making love with another man, he will be glad about it. Because she deserves happiness, and Anna sacrificed hers the moment she tied her affection to him.

She will, of course, deny that she can be happy again. She’ll cry and mourn and wallow. Her grief will be profound. He cannot deny that. But he needs to know that she will move on with her life.

He shifts on the bed. His heart seems to be beating sickeningly fast, as though it is attempting to fit in the heartbeats of a lifetime in his remaining hours.

Anna is due on her final visit tomorrow. And he is determined to make her see that there is a life after him. He will make her see that she can move on. Because he is not worth the ultimate sacrifice of a life of loneliness and grief.


	2. Distraction

  1. _ Distraction_

“Anna, will you please watch what you’re doing!?”

The exasperated admonishment from Mrs. Hughes has little impact on Anna as she mutters a quick apology and drops into her seat in the servants’ hall. She had almost bowled the housekeeper over in her haste to reach the table, where her Mr. Bates is currently sitting, doing his best to keep the smirk from his face. In times of such sorrow for the house, what with Miss Swire’s passing, it would not do to be seen being too cheerful.

Still, Anna can barely keep her own grin in check as she turns to face her husband.

_Her husband._ She doubts that she’ll ever grow accustomed to the notion.

“Watch out for her,” Mrs. Hughes advises wryly, “with the mood she’s in, she’s likely to spill her tea all over you.”

“Oh?” Mr. Bates questions, pretending to be serious though his eyes are twinkling. “And what’s brought that on?”

“I couldn’t tell you. She’s been distracted all day,” Mrs. Hughes sighs before she leaves the room, summoned away by Mr. Carson.

“I can’t imagine why you’d be so distracted,” says Mr. Bates, dropping his voice deliciously once they’re alone.

“Perhaps I’m coming down with something,” Anna replies, unable to resist running her hand down the length of his clothed arm. She shivers at the memory of how it had felt to have those same arms wrapped around her body.

“Perhaps you are,” he agrees, his voice a growl. “Perhaps you should be spending the day in bed.”

Oh dear Lord, the images that that seemingly innocent sentence conjures. Images of her husband’s body pressed up against hers, teaching her the exquisite pleasure of lovemaking. Images of the look on his face as he’d moved within her. The echo of her voice as she’d keened her need.

She shivers again, focusing on her breathing as the colour rises in her cheeks.

“Why, Miss Smith,” he says, and she bites her lip at his delicious teasing. “You appear to have a temperature.”

“Do I?” She tries to keep her tone nonchalant, calculating her comeback in her head. Glancing around quickly to make sure that they are still alone, she lowers her voice to a husky whisper. “It _is_ rather warm in here. Perhaps I should take a few layers off?”

How quickly the tables can be turned. This time it is John who has to close his eyes. Is he too remembering last night’s events? She’d undressed herself slowly in the room that they’d shared, shy and demure despite his appreciative gaze, completely unaccustomed to a man staring at her. Now he’s biting his lip. Is she sliding her undergarments, the last article of clothing on her body, off?

“Lord, Anna,” he says throatily, reaching for her left hand under the table and stroking his thumb against the back of her finger, where her wedding ring should be sitting snugly. “The things you do to me.”

“I know,” she breathes, twisting her hand so that they can link their fingers together. “I know.”

Because she does. Oh, how she does.

All day, she has been distracted by thoughts of him. She hasn’t been able to concentrate on any of the tasks that she has been set. Twice she has been chided by Mrs. Hughes for almost letting precious heirlooms slip through her clumsy fingers. Once, Lily had looked at her quizzically for standing in the middle of Lady Mary’s bedroom with a faraway mist in her eyes. She and Mr. Bates are supposed to be acting as normal as possible, and yet there she’d been, unable to complete even the simplest of tasks due to the memories of last night creeping up and invading her mind.

Now, in the present, it’s as though Mr. Bates can read her mind. There is something decidedly daring about his smile, and she feels her body treacherously tightening at that look in his eyes. It’s almost…dangerous. Well, as dangerous as Mr. Bates is ever going to get, anyway. She wonders what he’s up to.

It soon becomes apparent. Although she knows exactly how to undo him, he also knows that the same methods can be applied to her. It’s a sparring, playful game between the two of them, a game where their weaknesses are the same. It makes for an interesting match. Seemingly recovered from his moment of defeat, his dark eyes boring into hers, he slowly shrugs his jacket from his shoulders. Anna’s breath hitches. Her palms begin to sweat. That one simple movement causes a rush of longing to overcome her. She remembers. How vividly she remembers. The sound of the jacket whispering against his shirt as it had slid from his shoulders. The rare joy of seeing him in just his shirt and waistcoat. Then, with no clothes on at all.

Mr. Bates never takes his eyes off her as he slowly moves to the cufflinks, flicking them deftly through the buttonholes on his sleeves. Anna almost whimpers, her eyes riveted to his movements. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, he begins to roll up his shirtsleeves, exposing his firm forearms to the world. A seemingly innocent gesture. It’s not as though he’s never done it before in the servants’ hall, when the weather gets too warm. She herself has seen his forearms countless times, even before they’d become entangled; sometimes when he’d sat outside to polish Lord Grantham’s shoes, sometimes when he’d sat in the servants’ hall to help polish the silver, he’d roll his sleeves up. Those times had always left her a little flustered, imagining what they would feel like. Now the sensation is a hundred times more poignant, and her fingers tremble. She exhales hard through her nose. The hairs stand up on the back of her neck. Because she knows. She _knows_ what it’s like to feel those arms, to run her hands up them, feel the hard muscles contorting beneath her fingertips, to have them pressing down deliciously on her, to have them wrapped around her body like a blanket. The sight of them now, all dark haired and pale skinned, sets her pulse thumping a mile a minute. She wets her suddenly dry lips with her tongue, trying to say something, anything, when—

—When the sound of Mrs. Hughes’ voice breaks through the bubble that had been surrounding their own little world.

“Anna! Lady Mary has been ringing for you for the last five minutes! Heavens, girl, what on _earth_ is the matter with you!?”

Anna jumps physically, and almost falls out of her chair at the suddenness of Mrs. Hughes’ intrusion. She flushes as the housekeeper makes her way into the room, eyeing the two of them suspiciously. For his part, Mr. Bates looks the absolute picture of innocence, serenely sipping his tea and offering Mrs. Hughes his best honourable smile. Mrs. Hughes won’t be able to think one negative thought with _that_ directed at her. Anna would like nothing more to smack it from his face. Or kiss it away. Either one is extremely tempting.

Instead, she stumbles quickly to her feet and catches herself on the back of her chair.

“Anna, if I have to tell you one more time today…” Mrs. Hughes says reprovingly.

She lowers her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hughes. Truly.”

“Honestly, I don’t know what’s got into you,” the housekeeper continues, taking the cup that Mr. Bates offers her.

Anna can feel the tips of her ears burning and, despite herself, chances one last glance over her shoulder at her husband as she moves towards the servants’ hall doorway. He is smirking deliciously, his eyes twinkling, and she knows exactly what he is thinking: that it isn’t _what_ has got into her, but _who_. Her blood warms dramatically, and he holds her heated gaze while Mrs. Hughes reaches obliviously for a biscuit—

—And then she runs into the doorframe with a grunt of pain. It’s the final straw for Mr. Bates, who has to descend into a fit of coughs in order to disguise what is surely a snort of laughter, and Anna internally curses as she rubs the side of her head. That utter _sod_, toying with her in such a way, when she can barely think straight—

“Anna.”

Oh God, Mrs. Hughes.

Anna daren’t turn in the housekeeper’s direction. She doesn’t think she’d be able to take the look of irritation on her face.

“There’s Lady Mary’s bell again,” she squeaks, and darts out of the room as quickly as she can. She thinks she ought to be mad at Mr. Bates for disorientating her so, but she finds she that can’t be. Not when she is just so giddy that they are finally man and wife, newlyweds, _lovers_.

But she is determined to get her own back.

\-- --

It’s past midnight in the servants’ hall, and John sits by himself at the table, nursing a cup of tea to combat his insomnia. The others had gone to bed hours ago, worn out by the preparations for Miss Swire’s funeral. Anna had gone too, with a lingering glance over her shoulder at him. Luckily, she had been able to escape Mrs. Hughes’ wrath. Long years of perfect service and quick promotions to one of the most senior positions in the house did not count for nothing, and Mrs. Hughes had supposed that Anna was allowed one day of unfocused work. Or at least that was what Anna had told him when they’d met for a few minutes outside in the courtyard before she’d retired, so that they could kiss each other chastely in the relative privacy afforded to them by a stack of crates. The way that her hands had felt on his body had done nothing to abate the desire that has been throbbing through his body all day. Still, he knows that he will have to contain himself. There is no way that he can possibly sneak through the door segregating the men and the women, and he knows that Anna shouldn’t risk it either; if they were caught, then they’d both be dismissed at once. They’ve waited eight years to be together, he reminds himself firmly; he supposes a few more nights sleeping in their own rooms won’t kill them.

Suddenly, there is the sound of footsteps, and John’s head jerks up at once. The footsteps are light and feminine, and he daren’t place too much hope on it being her.

But it is.

She rounds the doorway like a goddess, her long blonde hair braided loosely down her back, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. The nightgown she is wearing is a simple one, nothing like the one of sheer silk that Lady Mary had borrowed her last night, but it takes his breath away nonetheless, and she closes the distance between them in a self-assured manner that is completely unlike her coy behaviour of last night.

She doesn’t even greet him before crashing her mouth onto his, clutching fistfuls of his shirt in her hands. Since he is still seated she towers above him, and he wraps his arms around her waist and draws her between his legs.

At last they part, panting for breath.

“I couldn’t go to sleep knowing I hadn’t done that,” Anna gasps as she slides onto his lap, mindful of his right knee. Her hands come up to meander lazily through his hair, and he closes his eyes at the sensation.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he murmurs in reply, fingers unable to resist stroking the clothed warmth of her side. He shudders at the realisation that she is not wearing a corset; his fingers catch the sides of her breasts as he leans in to press his mouth to her throat. She hums in appreciation, shifting until she sits flush against him. He gasps into her flesh.

“You’ve been a terrible tease all day, Mr. Bates,” she whispers into the silence, rocking imperceptibly against his body. “The things I’ve thought! And you certainly weren’t making it easy for me this afternoon. Why, I’m certain that you enjoyed seeing me all distracted and flustered.”

“I did,” he admits with a groan, tearing himself away from her throat in favour of lolling his head back against the hard chair. His eyes half-lid with desire.

John can’t be ashamed by the first stirrings of arousal in his lower half. Anna must feel them too, for she grins and presses harder over him.

“I must admit,” she says, bending forward to pepper his jawline with kisses, “I enjoyed your hands on me last night. Is that terribly unladylike?”

He breathes hard and fast through his nose, biting his lip. Is she feeling what he is? She bends in and tugs his lip away from his teeth with _her_ teeth, digging her fingertips into his shoulders, kissing him breathless. He holds onto her as if she is a lifeline.

But she pulls away when his hands move to her backside. His eyes snap open as she shifts backwards.

“Mr. Bates,” she purrs with a wicked grin, “I’m afraid that I’m rather too tired tonight. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to bed.”

He moans aloud, dropping his head against her chest as she wiggles on his lap.

“You are a very cruel girl, Anna,” he mumbles against her clothes.

She smirks. “I prefer to see it as payback, my love.”

“Surely nothing I’ve done today is as bad as this.”

“Well, you certainly helped to get me into trouble with Mrs. Hughes.”

“I can’t help that I didn’t marry a lady.”

She smacks his arm good-naturedly as he grins at her, taking them back to the day when she first confessed her love for him. “Oh, you’re impossible.”

“Then we make the perfect pair,” he tells her, unable to resist kissing her neck.

Anna pulls back again at that. “Stop. If we carry on like that I won’t be responsible for my actions. I’ll have my way with you on the table.”

John blushes even as he smirks. “And is that really a bad thing?”

“It is if you don’t want Mr. Carson bedridden again. And Mrs. Hughes is sure to chase us around the house with a priest in tow before she sacks us.”

With that, she tries to wriggle free. Knowing that her playful seduction is over, John releases her. As tempting as the thought of throwing caution to the wind in favour of feeling her naked body against his own again is, he knows that it’s not worth risking their employment.

“Goodnight then,” he says quietly.

“Night,” she replies, then bends down to give him one last kiss, one last ace. Her breath in his ear makes him shudder. “John.”

The effect of her huskily breathing his name has his desire flaring perilously once again. Anna smirks in triumph at his sharp intake of breath, then quickly steps away. Casting one last flirty look over her shoulder, she slips out of the servants’ hall and back up the staircase to her bed.

Alone once more, John groans into the silence. The sound of Anna breathing his name in such a voice will haunt his dreams tonight and ensure that he is quite senseless by dawn’s first light. He doesn’t know how he’ll get through his chores later today without conjuring up delicious scenarios where she’s mewling his name, begging him to give her what she needs.

He drops his head into his hands.

It looks as though Mrs. Hughes will have another full day on her hands trying to keep _him_ focused.


	3. Scars

_ 3\. Scars _

John Bates’ scars, for the most part, are not hidden. Oh, the people at Downton have never seen them, but they know that they’re there, can imagine the twisted, mangled knee that troubles him so, have had the truth of his sins exposed for them all to judge. He is not comfortable with all of his dirty laundry being aired in the great house, but there is nothing that can be done about it. Vera had added to the damage with her re-appearance, had made people whisper and gossip and speculate, had made them frown down on his relationship with Anna. And now that Vera is dead, he knows that the whispering has begun afresh: did he do it? What else can he be capable of?

But tonight it is of little consequence, because Anna is his wife, and Anna is in the bed with him, and he is finally completely laid bare in front of her, letting her know every part of him, for better, for worse.

They make love first, eager to touch and taste and consummate, seven years of pent-up longing unleashed in one act of complete bliss. It is only afterwards, lying together in a contented afterglow, that Anna announces that she wants to look at him properly, elevating herself onto her elbows so that she can look into his face. He is hesitant for a moment, before accepting that she has a right to know every part of him as intimately as she wants, pushing the covers from his legs.

She does not flinch when his knee is shyly exposed to her. He waits nervously for her verdict. It is a part of his body that only two other women have seen since his days at war: Vera, who had turned her nose up and spat that it made him useless, and Mrs. Hughes, who had barely been able to contain her horror and pity. But Anna does not display any sign of pity or horror or distaste, merely lets out the breath that she had been holding and brushes her fingers over the thick white scars.

“Is it hurting now?” she breathes. Her touch sends shivers careening down his spine, like jolts of electricity. He has never known anyone to have such a soft caress.

“No. It only bothers me sometimes,” he murmurs, his eyes half-closing as she continues to stroke his skin. He tingles where she touches him. “Usually when I’ve put too much strain on it, or if I’ve been idle for too long.”

She hums in the back of her throat as she continues to trace the lines which have made him the man that he is today, shifting her body down so that she can peer more attentively at the gnarled skin. He should feel uncomfortable that she is getting so close to his leg, able to see the harsh flaws so closely. It should make him feel like an old cripple.

It doesn’t.

Her long blonde hair tickles his kneecap as she inspects further, and he resists the urge to shudder at the pleasant sensation. Her touches have become bolder now, more certain, and her fingers massage him as though she has been doing it a lifetime. He reaches out with shaky fingers to tuck a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. She glances up for a moment, her blue eyes catching his steadily before she returns her attention to his leg.

He doesn’t even realise that she is moving in to press her mouth against the maze of scars until she’s done it. Her mouth—impossibly warm, impossibly wet, impossibly wonderful—lingers over the damaged, raised flesh. It feels like an angel’s blessing.

For the first time in his life, John Bates is content with his scars.

\-- --

Anna Bates’ scars, for the most part, are hidden. Oh, the people of Downton have caught a glimpse of them from time to time in the past. They know that she’s suffered greatly because of Mr. Bates; they know that her heart has been torn out of her chest so many times, weeping blood onto the floor, only for it to be stitched closed again by his unpractised but loyal hands.

But not even her husband can know the true extent of the scars that she carries because of him. And she’s glad about that. Because if he did, his guilt would be almost impossible for him to bear.

She could confide in him, if she wanted to. He’d be more than willing to bear her burdens and fears. Perhaps he might even be able to help her scars to fade a little more. But no. He cannot know that even when he slumbers peacefully by her side, his arms enveloping her in a warm embrace, she can’t sleep. He can’t know that she lies awake every single night, staring sightlessly into the darkness while dread grips her heart, terrified that this good fortune of theirs cannot possibly last.

It has been five months since her husband’s release from prison, since the horror of their separation ended and, all things considered, John has adapted fairly well to being in society again. She wonders if she’s coping worse than he is.

Because she is plagued by the hurt and the anxiety. A snatched moment of happiness between endless moments of soul-destroying grief is all they have ever been allowed to know.

And she wonders just when fate is going to strike again.

It niggles at her while she works at Downton Abbey, alone with her thoughts. It shadows her as she interacts with the rest of the servants in the house. It’s her personal demon whenever she is pottering around their modest little cottage on her half-day off. And it even lies in wait at the back of her mind as her husband kisses her breathless and makes her blood sing with pleasure.

She is sure that their fragile happiness will be shattered. She just doesn’t know when. And that terrifies her most of all.

Now, in the present, John stirs behind her. His arms squeeze her waist lovingly, and he shifts until his head is cushioned in the curve of her bare shoulder.

“What’s wrong, my love?” he murmurs into the darkness, pressing a kiss against her. “You’re all tense.”

“Nothing,” she replies softly, bringing a hand round to cup his elbow. She caresses the skin slowly, hoping it’s enough to reassure him. “Just thinking. Now go back to sleep.”

She feels his contented smile against her skin, feels his grip on her tighten. She wonders what it will take for his arms to be torn away from her.

“Yes ma’am,” he says, his words muffled by her skin. And then his breathing evens against her neck, and she simply lies there, almost trembling as she continues to fear what life will throw at them next.

Perhaps some scars are never meant to heal.


	4. Destiny

_ 4.Destiny _

At what point had she known that they were destined to be together?

It certainly hadn’t been immediately. There had been no love at first sight, not for her. There had been no butterflies flapping wildly in the stomach, her heart hadn’t thumped erratically in her chest, she hadn’t grow warm and pleasantly fuzzy all over. She had perhaps been more drawn to him than she should have been right from the beginning, but it had been nothing that she had felt worried over; she was too practical to believe in love at first sight. Despite the unlikeliness of it all, she was his friend. Some of the other servants—particularly Thomas and Miss O’Brien—had scoffed at such a ridiculous notion, but Anna hadn’t let that bother her. She’d found the valet to be pleasant and very interesting and much nicer company than the bitter footman and the sour lady’s maid.

She hadn’t thought that they were destined to be together when she _had_ eventually realised that she was in love with him—something that had come upon her so forcefully and unexpectedly that it had made her head reel. There had been nothing remotely romantic happening at the time for such a thought to be sprung upon her. They had merely been sitting side by side, as they always did, his chair turned slightly towards her and his voice lowered as they’d discussed the latest book that they had both read—_Great Expectations_ by Charles Dickens, much to Mr. Bates’ distaste; she would never forget that seemingly minor detail—when his hand had accidently brushed hers as he argued his case by finding the relevant passage, leaning just perceptibly into her. It had barely lasted a few seconds and yet she had found herself memorising the feel of his skin beneath her, the slightly calloused pads of his fingers symbolising a lifetime of hard work, the roughness of his palm. She had found herself holding her breath during that short period of time, the blood inexplicably rushing to her face and making her cheeks glow and, when he’d turned his warm, concerned brown gaze on her and inquired in a quiet, worried voice if she was all right, she had known. Her feelings for him were not simply platonic. She felt so much more than friendliness when he spoke to her. She felt nervous and fumbling when he glanced in her direction, as though her expression was naked and completely open to him.

But she’d known that they weren’t destined to be together then. Although he seemed to like her a great deal, Mr. Bates had never given her any signal that he might feel the same way about her. He was much more open with her than he was with any other member of the house and it was rare for him to spend his time with someone other than her, but she hadn’t been able to decipher his feelings at all. Mr. Bates had been an enigma to her, someone who she could never quite unravel no matter how hard she tried, and who still held at least a little of himself at a distance despite her efforts to show him that he could trust her with anything.

She hadn’t thought they were destined to be together when she had confessed her love for him. If anything, his response had killed a little of the hope inside her. For a few weeks, she had been harbouring the suspicion that he did—_finally_—seem to be falling for her, and when he had given his veiled speech about Mr. Patrick and Lady Edith, it had all but confirmed her suspicions. Confidence as high as it would ever be in such a situation, she had bided her time and found the perfect opportunity to declare her feelings for him. She’d expected some sort of declaration in return. Not a gentle rebuff. It had knocked her confidence more than she could say. Still, she had dusted herself off and carried on. She had had to. She’d told herself that having him in her life as a friend—even if she was desperately _desperately_ hoping for more—was better than not having him at all.

And then, for a few shining moments after his declaration of love that first time, she had thought that perhaps they really _were_ destined to be together, that fate was shining down upon them and presenting them with the opportunity to make the best of their situation, no matter what else would come. But she had been wrong. Because nothing had seemed certain in those months. There had always been the unwanted question of what would happen if Vera would not consent to a divorce. There had always been the fear of being torn apart, the uncertainty of what they would do if he couldn’t ever be free for her. Despite her complete and utter joy at the shift in their relationship, she had been too practical to completely lose her head.

And then, of course, there had been the return of Vera and Mr. Bates’ departure, and it had all seemed so hopeless, so doomed. It was as though Fate was laughing at her, jeering at her, mocking her for being stupid enough to believe that they could really make things work between them. Fate had, quite clearly, been telling her that they were certainly not destined to be together, so she should jolly well give up on the idea of a happily ever after.

But she hadn’t.

When they had been reunited, it had only served to make her more determined. They were going to be together no matter what happened. Fate could dictate to her that she could not be with him, but she would not stop fighting for their rights until the last breath left her body. Whether it was written in the stars or not, she was going to be Mrs. Anna Bates, and she was going to have a long, happy life with him by her side.

She is still waiting for this to happen. Now, with her husband incarcerated for a crime that he hasn’t committed, she is still fighting tooth and nail for that image of their future. Now that she has been promoted to Lady Mary’s lady’s maid, she has a little more free time on her hands. She does not have to spend the day cleaning whatever rooms need a real going over, merely has to ensure that all of Lady Mary’s clothes are in perfect order. So instead of whiling away her hours dusting lampshades, she is able to throw herself into whatever she thinks might help to free her husband. Whether it is feverishly pursuing newspaper reports or doggedly asking anyone who might have the slightest idea of what might have happened, she is determined to be of service in such a vital time. She will not be defeated.

It is not a simple question of destiny, of right and wrong, of what is meant to be. It is a complex myriad of emotions, natural human nature. Why should she invest so much into cosmic superstition and God’s will? Surely God won’t slight her for choosing to fight for what she wants?

Anna has never believed that they were destined to be together. But that doesn’t mean that she won’t do everything in her power to make sure that they are.


	5. Bonds

_ 5\. Bonds _

It is almost midnight when Anna stumbles below stairs, feeling utterly fatigued. Although there had been no guests and no special events taking place at Downton Abbey that evening, Lady Mary had visited the nearby Skelton estate for a dinner with her mother. Lord Grantham had elected to stay behind, preparing instead for the trip to London that he had planned for the weekend. She had expected to find the servants’ hall empty with the luxury of a relaxed dinner, so she is surprised to see a candle burning from the hallway. Wondering who could possibly still be up now when the promise of an early night should have beckoned everyone to bed, she makes her way towards the light. When she reaches the threshold, she stops short.

Mr. Bates is sitting in the seat that has silently been christened as his. His head is bent low over a book, the soft candlelight bathing the browning pages a gentle gold. Evidently, he is so absorbed that he hasn’t even heard her arrival.

She clears her throat, and he visibly starts at the sound, his head jerking backwards. Seeing his reaction, she smiles at him and holds out her hands.

“Don’t worry,” she says, “I’m not about to give you away to Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes.”

He smiles back, pushing his book a little way away from him. “I know you won’t.”

“Besides,” she continues, moving into the room, “you’re not doing anything wrong. There’s no rule saying that you can’t sit here reading. Though I would have thought you’d be taking advantage of an early night like everyone else.”

“His lordship only went to bed about half an hour ago himself,” he answers. “So I’m afraid that it wouldn’t have been such an early night for me.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she says, sliding into her usual seat beside him. “A half hour extra sleep sounds like a blessing to me!”

He chuckles. The sound is deep and throaty and honest. Anna finds that she likes it. It is a rarity for Mr. Bates to laugh—in his six months of service in the house, she doesn’t think she’s heard him laugh like that in the presence of others—and inwardly she swells with pride at her achievement. He is always so quiet and serious. It’s not a bad thing, but it’s nice to see him letting his guard down a little.

“So why aren’t you running up to bed now?” she asks, genuinely curious, once his laughter has died down.

“Well,” he says, and his lips quirk, “I couldn’t do much running anywhere, even if I wanted to.”

“You silly beggar.” She shakes her head, unable to stop her own grin. After a moment’s pause, she turns to him again. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh, it’s simple enough,” he says airily. “I just don’t sleep very well at night.”

That doesn’t sound simple at all. Anna cannot fathom how someone can speak so candidly about an inability to sleep. She’d be an absolute monster if she got any less sleep than she already does.

“Why not?” The words escape her before she can stop them, and she internally curses herself; Mr. Bates has been amongst them long enough for her to know that he is a very private man who doesn’t share himself with others very easily.

Instead of appearing wary of her prying, however, Mr. Bates simply smiles. “Oh, it’s something that’s plagued me since childhood, I’m afraid. It got a little worse in Africa and now, well…” He trails off and gestures to his knee. “The old war wound likes to make itself known at night. Nothing that I can’t cope with, but it can be irritating all the same.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

He waves it away with a casual flick of his hand. “Don’t be. It’s bearable.”

Silence reigns for a few minutes. Anna contents herself with studying the table top in front of her, not sure what else to say to the valet. For his part, Mr. Bates seems to be content to pull his book towards him again.

“What are you reading?” The question is out of her mouth before she can stop it. She flinches, thinking that Mr. Bates is no doubt going to find her inability to keep quiet annoying. Her father had always gone into the barn to read his newspaper back at home; he’d always hated that he couldn’t concentrate on his reading with four young children darting around underfoot, asking incessant questions. When she’d been old enough to understand, Anna had always kept silent when her father picked his paper up. He was a good man and a hard worker, but it wasn’t worth igniting his temper when he was stealing a few minutes to read the day’s news.

But instead of appearing exasperated with her, Mr. Bates only smiled warmly, tipping the book partly closed so that she could read the front cover. _A Room with a View_.

“I’ve read that!” Anna exclaims excitedly, before flushing at her forwardness. Clearing her throat to compose herself, she continues, more reservedly, “are you enjoying it?”

“It’s not my usual taste, I must admit,” he says. “A bit too much like romantic drivel for my taste.”

She blushes again, thinking of how the romance of it all is her favourite part. “That’s a pity.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because everyone deserves some love in their life,” she tells him. “What’s the point in living if you aren’t going to let yourself be loved?”

His face darkens for the briefest of instants. In that split-second, she wonders just what had gone on in Mr. Bates’ former life. A broken heart? A love lost?

She quickly pushes the thoughts away. She doesn’t want to know. It would be dangerous for her own heart to know.

And then his face clears, and his eyes twinkle. “What a womanly notion to have.”

Her face breaks into a smile on its own accord. “Well, that shouldn’t be a surprise to you, Mr. Bates. I _am_ a woman, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed.” His tone is light, but she detects that there is more to his words than he is letting on.

Anna’s temperature rockets up twenty degrees. Her ears burn. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. Unsure of how to respond, she simply sits there. She can feel his eyes burning her. She wishes that he’d look away. She has found in recent days that she can’t concentrate properly if she knows that he is staring at her. It puts her on edge in the most pleasant of ways.

Grasping at anything to break the silence, she asks the first thing that comes into her head. “Have you read any of the other books in Lord Grantham’s library?”

“A few,” he nods. “Sometimes it can be hard to find the time.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Anna says fervently, thinking of the book that she has on her own bedside table, still stuck at the halfway point. It’s been standing there untouched for the better part of a month. She knows if she leaves it much longer then she’ll end up having to re-read the whole thing to remind herself of what’s happened so far. It’s not an appealing thought. Frederick Gissing isn’t her favourite of authors, she has discovered.

“What about you?” he asks her, seeming genuinely interested in her reply. “Have you been utilising the library? I know Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes like to take a novel every so often, but I don’t think any of the others are that interested.”

“I didn’t use it much at the beginning,” she admits. “I was far too busy learning the ropes and trying not to make mistakes to bother myself with reading.” She shrugs. “And I was very young when I first started working here. Literature didn’t interest me nearly as much as it does now.”

“How long have you been working here, then?” he asks her. She doesn’t miss the turn in the conversation, to a more intimate tone. She doesn’t bother denying that she likes it. It’s been a long time since she’s talked so candidly to someone. Gwen is like a sister to her, but she doesn’t share everything with her. There is something soft about Mr. Bates, something sympathetic, which lets her know beyond a doubt that he can be trusted with anything.

“Longer than I care to admit,” she grins. “I started here when I was barely fifteen. It’s the first position I’ve ever had in a household. Before I started here, I used to help my parents on their farm. Now I send them a little of my earnings every month.”

“You’re not that old now,” he points out to her and, internally, she glows.

“Maybe not,” she says, “but I’ve still spent almost as many years working here as I did living at home.”

“When you put it like that, it is rather scary,” he agrees. “But you’ve done very well for yourself. I don’t think I’ve ever come across someone in such an esteemed position as you at such a young age.”

The glow that she feels inside manifests itself on her face as another becoming blush. She wonders if he’s as ready with compliments with the others as he is with her. She resolves to keep a closer eye on that in the future.

“I was lucky,” she says nonchalantly, not wanting to appear too arrogant and proud of her achievements.

Mr. Bates shakes his head. “No, it’s a credit to how hard you must have worked to gain it. Don’t sell yourself short, Anna. You’re a fine young woman.”

There he is again, complimenting her. She knows that if he doesn’t stop doing that, she is in most definitely danger of losing her heart.

_Maybe you’ve already lost it._

It’s a thought that she quickly stamps on. No, she won’t even contemplate that. She has barely known him more than a few months. He is one of the most agreeable people that she has ever met, but she needs to be careful. Her parents always boast that she has a practical head on her shoulders, that she will never cause anyone the slightest bit of trouble. She doesn’t intend to tarnish her enviable record by falling over herself for the attentions of an older man—and a man who works alongside her, no less. No, she won’t think of things such as love.

Silence reigns again. Mr. Bates suddenly seems very interested in the thin pages of the book in front of him, as though his brain has only just caught up with his mouth. The sight of him like that, his eyes boyishly averted from hers, makes him look oddly endearing. She strives to think of something to say.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asks him, before cringing.

_Lovely, Anna_, she berates herself. _That’s exactly the sort of conversation that will make him think that you’re an interesting person._

“I’d love one,” he says as she starts to rise, then surprises her by standing himself. “I’ll make it, if you’d like. You must be exhausted. Looking after all three of the girls on top of your other work is a lot for the family to ask of you. You work harder than anyone else.”

“I don’t mind,” she protests.

“And neither do I,” he counters. “Sit down. I’ll bring a cup through to you. And I’ll have you know that I make the best cups of tea around, though if you ever tell Mrs. Patmore I said that, I’ll deny it ardently.”

She giggles, the sound loud in the quiet servants’ hall. He leaves her then with a smile, cane tapping across the stone floor. As the sound fades away, Anna pulls his copy of _A Room with a View_ towards her to occupy her mind while she waits. The storyline comes flooding back to her as she flicks through it dreamily. She’d always liked Lucy, she thinks absently, even if she was a bit simple. There was an innocence about her that Anna envies. In fact, she’s a little bit like Daisy. Not a lot (Daisy is perhaps a bit too innocent for her own good), but the comparison in her mind makes her smile.

What seems like a minute later, Anna feels her shoulders being gently shaken. Jerking her head upward, she blinks wearily as she tries to discern her surroundings. Mr. Bates is back in front of her, looking sheepish.

“I’m sorry for waking you, Anna,” he says quietly, “but I didn’t want to leave you here all night. Perhaps you should go to bed now. You must be tired out.”

“I…I fell asleep?” The words sound slurred and stupid, even to her own ears. If Mr. Bates thinks so, however, he does not show it.

“It’s not surprising. You haven’t had the luxury of an early night. And I’ve kept you up when I should have sent you up to bed. It’s my fault.”

“You can hardly be to blame,” she replies, bringing a hand up to rub her eyes. “Now, where’s this infamous cup of tea?”

“It’s in the kitchen, but I think it can be saved for another night,” he admonishes her gently. “You’ll be getting up again in a few hours. Go and sleep while you still can.”

“Won’t you be lonely down here on your own?” It is meant to sound teasing, but Anna doesn’t think that she’s succeeded. She blames her fatigue for that. Nevertheless, the corners of Mr. Bates’ mouth quirk upwards.

“I’m a grown man. I’m sure I’ll survive,” he says. “But I’m more than happy to walk you to the staircase.”

“A perfect gentleman,” she says, but this time she cannot mistake the shadow that passes across his face. It startles her somewhat. However, before she can even begin to decipher what it might mean, it’s cleared, leaving his expression as stoic and unreadable as usual.

Feeling at a loss for something to say, she pushes herself to her feet. “Well, I’d best be off. Goodnight, Mr. Bates.”

“Let me escort you,” he replies. After a moment’s hesitation he scoops up his book and slips it into his pocket. “Actually, I might retire now as well. I can read just as easily upstairs as I can down here.”

She waits while he gathers himself together, before blowing out the candle that had been providing them with gentle light. Now plunged into darkness, the duo begin to move tentatively towards the door, aware of banging their shins on cumbersome objects lurking out of sight.

The darkness does more than just provide a deceptive cover, though. In the darkness, where she can no longer see his features, Anna is instilled with a newfound sense of courage. As they edge their way carefully towards the staircase, she finds her voice.

“Mr. Bates?”

“Yes?”

For a moment, she wonders how to phrase her question. “Do you…do you ever wish that sometimes your life was different?”

There is a very pregnant pause. In that moment, every possible scenario runs through her head: that he’ll find her question offensive, that he won’t mind the intrusion, that it will make him sad as he thinks on happier times. She should never have asked. It is not her place to pry into his life.

Slowly, though, he does answer. It is nothing like she had expected.

“I suppose everyone wishes that, in some way. There are things about my life that I wish I had done differently. There are times that I wish I could forget. But there have been some good things, too. And, despite all of my bad decisions, they have led me to here.”

She fancies that there is more hanging onto the end of his sentence than he lets on. She wonders what he has left off.

She knows what she wants it to be.

_They have led me to you._

But she is being ridiculous. Because, no matter what her heart wants to scream, she barely knows him. She won’t allow herself to think such thoughts.

_Not yet, at least._

“And you’re glad to be here? Even with all of Thomas’ and Miss O’Brien’s horrid scheming?”

“Yes,” he answers, and she can sense that he is closing off again, replacing his mask, erecting his steel barriers. She will get no more out of him tonight. He has already said too much.

It is of little consequence. He has opened up more to her in the course of one short evening than he has in the course of his entire time in the house so far. If she has to take it step by tiny step, then she will. Because he really is a fascinating man, and a worthy friend. With time, she will show him that he can trust her.

They make the rest of the journey to the servants’ quarters in silence, except for the gentle sound of their breathing and the quiet tap of Mr. Bates’ cane against the floor. At the bottom of the staircase that leads to the women’s rooms, Mr. Bates pauses. Anna mounts the first couple of steps so that her height matches his. He smiles at that.

“Goodnight, then,” he whispers. She’s glad he does; it won’t do to disturb Mrs. Hughes. The last thing she wants is for her to come flying out of the room, wondering what man dares to linger anywhere near the women’s quarters.

“Goodnight,” she echoes. “Sleep well.”

“I’m sure I will. You too.”

Anna nods in the darkness, then watches him turn away. Before he has taken more than a few steps, however, she calls his name softly. Looking perplexed, he turns to face her again.

“Yes? What’s wrong, Anna?”

“Nothing. I just…I had a really nice time this evening.” The words spill from her mouth in an almost incoherent stream, knowing that if she doesn’t say them now, then she never will.

“So did I.” She can’t see his expression in the darkness, but he sounds sincere. The thought comforts her.

“Perhaps we can do it again sometime,” she offers, wondering if he thinks her too presumptuous.

A moment’s pause as he shifts from foot to foot. In that instant, her heartbeat quickens. She isn’t sure if she’s waiting for an agreement or a gentle rebuff.

“I’d like that,” he says finally. “Very much so.”

He turns to leave then and this time she lets him, listening to the tap of his cane grow quieter the further he travels.

“I’d like that, too,” she whispers into the darkness. “I’d like that a lot.”


	6. New Beginnings

_ 6\. New Beginnings _

Nervously, Anna stands outside Downton Abbey with her little travelling case by her feet. Two cases. That’s what both of their most valuable possessions have been condensed into. Just two little cases. The fact makes her feel oddly small and insignificant.

In front of her, her husband shakes hands with Lord Grantham. They are quiet as they do this, and Anna thinks that they are both afraid that they will show emotion if they speak. Anna knows how strong the bond between master and servant is. It runs much deeper than simply lord and valet. Under different circumstances, they would have been the closest of allies, brothers.

Anna averts her eyes, feeling as though she is intruding on something that she has no right to see. Her gaze instead falls on Lady Mary, who is staring at her with a mixture of joy and sorrow on her face. Moving into her seventh month of pregnancy, the young woman has been practically glowing. Today, however, the glow seems dimmed. When Anna’s eyes meet hers, Lady Mary offers her a sad smile, stepping forward.

“I’m going to miss you, Anna,” she says quietly.

“I’m going to miss you too, milady,” Anna replies.

The answer is completely honest. Although Lady Mary can sometimes be difficult and demanding, the two of them have struck up a certain kinship over the years, especially since the fateful incident with Mr. Pamuk. John’s incarceration also pushed the two of them even closer together. It is difficult to imagine what life will be like without seeing Lady Mary every day.

_You’re going to enjoy it,_ she tells herself firmly. _A new beginning. A fresh start. It’s what you both need._

“Whoever I hire next won’t replace you,” Lady Mary continues. “You’ve been such a good friend to me over the years, Anna. I honestly don’t know what I would have done without you. The truth is…” She laughs a little, shakily. “The truth is, you’ve been like another sister to me.”

Another sister. It’s the biggest compliment that Lady Mary can ever give to her. All at once, Anna feels the rush of tears behind her eyes, blurring her vision of the young woman in front of her. She hopes that she isn’t going to embarrass them both.

“You’ve been like a sister to me too, milady,” she manages to choke out and, before she can even register what is taking place, Lady Mary pulls her into a bone-crushing hug, her belly pressing warmly against Anna’s own thin frame. Lady Mary’s familiar scent—lilies and perfume and expensive soap—wafts through her senses for what is probably the last time, and Anna cannot stop the tears from falling. There is dampness against her neck too, and she realises that Lady Mary is also crying.

Someone softly clears their throat behind them. Anna and Lady Mary separate. It is Lady Grantham, smiling gently at them.

“Thank you for all the hard work you’ve done for us over the years, Anna,” she says. “It’s been very much appreciated.”

“It was an honour, your ladyship,” she answers. “You’ve been so kind to me. I really will miss being at Downton.”

“We’re sorry to see you leave.”

“In the end I think it’s for the best, milady.”

“Perhaps so,” Lady Grantham muses, her gaze drifting towards where her husband and his valet are exchanging their final words. For the first time in months, John looks completely at ease. Anna’s resolve strengthens. Yes, this decision really is for the best.

Over the months, it has become painfully clear that neither of them can move on from their pasts here at Downton. There are ghosts at every turn, stopping them from moving forward with their lives. John hates going anywhere near the servants’ hall because it brings back the way that his tenure in prison started; he even feels uneasy eating his meals. Anna herself can’t sit in her usual seat without remembering the long, lonely nights she spent there with nothing but the darkness for company, terrifying herself with harrowing images of his fate. It had gotten a little easier when they had moved into the cottage and started calling it their own…but most of their time is still spent up at Downton Abbey, and this is the root of the problem. How can they learn to accept and move on from their past when it dogs them every second of the day? John has found it difficult to adapt to a regime not governed by violence and endless hours of staring at the same four walls. The thought of time to use freely had frightened him. His days are spent working himself ragged so that he can forget the trying times that he has lived through. Some nights, when sleep eludes them both, she worries that he might perhaps start drinking again—she’s caught him looking at the bottles of wine in the cellar longingly enough times for her fear to be a valid one. He hasn’t yet…but it doesn’t mean that he won’t take it up if he is forced to spend every day reliving things he’d rather forget.

So, when John had tentatively brought up the idea of them leaving Downton and starting again, she had jumped at the opportunity. She’d desperately wanted them to create a future for themselves without the presence of pain and fear. Leaving Downton seemed to be the only way that they could achieve that. That summer, when the leaves had just begun to turn a dusky gold, they had made plans and put them into action. It had taken them a lot of courage to do so, but they’d known that it was the right thing to do. They’d told their employers, the butler, and the housekeeper of their plans. And now the day of the big move has finally arrived.

A war of emotions is doing battle within Anna. She feels sad, powerfully sad, that she is leaving this place. It has been her home for more than half of her life. She’d matured into a young woman here, worked hard and gained promotions, garnered the respect of almost everyone in the house. This is the house where she fell in love with the man who is now her husband; she made love with him for the first time under this very roof. So many of her memories go hand in hand with Downton Abbey, both the good and the bad. And yet she knows that leaving is ultimately for the best. Wanting to see John happy is the only thing that she has wanted out of life for almost a decade. That can’t happen here. Not now, not after everything that has transpired. And she’d move the ends of the earth for him if she could. If, when he moves away from the house, he can emerge from the darkness that currently grips him, then she owes it to him to move so that they can build a happy life of their own. She has yearned to be with him for so long; she isn’t about to squander such an opportunity. As long as they have each other, she knows that they’ll be fine. She’s been happy this past year to have him back by her side. She’s been so happy. But that happiness has always been tampered by a fear that something else will go wrong, and it’s something that she has to overcome. Getting away will, she hopes, be the answer to that.

It’s not as if John hasn’t tried so hard over this past year to fit in, because he has. He’s put up with the gossip and the whispering from the lower members of the house. He’s put up with the usual animosity from Thomas, who had felt put-out that Lord Grantham dared to demote him back to position of first footman. He has tried so hard to put on a brave face for her, to pretend that he is coping perfectly well with being out of prison again. He has tried laughing and joking with whoever will pass the time of day with him. He’s met the exceptional standards that the house set, even if he’s been working himself too hard to achieve this. There has been nothing that Mr. Carson could voice concern over. But she is his wife. She knows him better than anyone else. And working himself ragged to forget the memories is not something he should have to do. Whenever he can he works out in the fresh air, sitting in the courtyard polishing his lordship’s boots, or mending a tear in his clothes.

_“I feel…safer there,”_ he’d told her one night as they’d lain in the darkness of their cottage, arms wrapped around each other, naked skin pressed intimately against naked skin.

She’d known what he’d meant. The courtyard is their secret place. She knows that he feels as surrounded by her presence there as she does by his.

At night time, however, his fears seem to return. He’s better than he was (at the beginning he’d even felt claustrophobic and crowded when she’d tried to wrap herself around him), but she knows that he still has a long way to go. Thankfully, he seems to have overcome his fear of being touched, and now she sleeps as contentedly as she possibly can given the circumstances; by his side, moulded against his front, or else sleeping with her head tucked under his chin, every part of their bodies touching. Anna knows the nights are the hardest. He won’t talk about his horrifying experiences in prison, at least not yet, but she knows that they haunt him. She knows that he has never been a great sleeper, her John, but he does even less of it now. And so does she. Because she can’t forget what it was like to lie alone in the darkness, torturing herself with every possible outcome of her husband’s fate and how she’d ever manage to go on without him.

No, it is better all round if they move away and give themselves the chance of a new start. The Crawleys have been kind to them both over the years, much kinder than they could have ever dreamed of, but Anna and John have both served them and treated them well in return. She does not feel guilty about leaving because they’ve given them so much time to prepare for it, but she certainly feels sad about what they are leaving behind.

Lady Mary gives Anna’s hand one last squeeze, allowing her to move on and say her goodbyes to the one other woman who has supported her so unwaveringly over the last couple of years.

Mrs. Hughes smiles forlornly. Her eyes are teary as she reaches out and pulls Anna into her arms.

“I won’t deny that I’m going to miss you, Anna,” she says, and her Scottish brogue seems thicker. “I’m going to miss you very much. You’re a remarkable young woman.”

“I’m going to miss you too, Mrs. Hughes,” Anna replies, her voice wavering. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for us. We both really appreciate it. You’ve been such a good friend to me. I don’t know how I would’ve managed without you.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Hughes says. “You were always going to cope.”

Anna doesn’t think so, but she says nothing. The time of her husband’s incarceration was trying. The housekeeper’s support was one of the only things that had kept her going through that dark period of her life.

“I’ll never be able to show you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done,” she says instead.

“Just promise me that you’ll write and let me know how things are going along. I’d be very interested to know that.”

“Of course I will.”

“And you’ll try and visit when you’re settled? You’re not that far away and it would certainly be nice to see you again.”

“I’d like that very much.”

“And…” Her eyes drift towards Mr. Bates’ smiling expression. “You must bring your children with you when you visit in the future.”

Anna feels her face warming. The subject of children is something that both she and John have tiptoed around. Upon his release, it had been obvious that he was in no fit state to even contemplate having a family of his own. Sometimes, it had been a miracle that he had touched her intimately; at the beginning it had been so infrequent that it had been almost non-existent. There had been something that had stopped him from connecting with her on such an intimate level. Thankfully, though it had taken him a few months, that had eventually passed. Now they enjoy the intimacy more than ever, because they both know what it took to get them to this point. At one time, on dark nights, Anna had wondered if children would ever be a remote possibility. Now she knows that it’s up to God’s will to decide if they’re ever to be graced.

“We’d be happy to, Mrs. Hughes,” she says.

The housekeeper nods, then gives her one last hug. “Now, be off with you. It looks as though you’re ready to leave.”

Anna’s stomach turns. The moment that she has both been looking forward to and dreading: leaving everything behind.

John limps over to her, offering her a sad smile. “Mr. Branson is ready to take us, Anna.”

She nods. “I’m coming.”

John turns to Mrs. Hughes. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for us over the years, Mrs. Hughes. I mean it. Knowing that Anna was safe helped to ease some of my burdens while I was in prison.”

“It was never a problem, Mr. Bates,” Mrs. Hughes answers. “It was my pleasure. You’ll both take care, won’t you?”

He nods. “Of course. We’ll be all right.”

The housekeeper pulls him into a hug too, and Anna watches as her husband embraces her tightly. She surprises them both by laying a kiss on his cheek.

“Now be off with you,” she says. “And good luck with everything.”

With one final smile, Anna and John turn away. Anna slips her right hand into John’s left, twining their fingers together as they walk towards the motor. Mr. Branson, who is over from Ireland for a visit with Lady Sybil and their child, had offered to be the one to drive them to the station. Anna knows he is still struggling to find his place amongst the family even though the initial animosity has cooled, but he had always got on well with both of them during his time as chauffeur for the family.

John opens the door and helps Anna into the back seat, then hoists their bags in after her. Once she’s arranged them suitably, John heaves himself up beside her. As Mr. Branson moves to start the car, Lord Grantham’s face appears at the window.

“Write to me when you’re settled,” he says sombrely.

“Milord?”

“I mean it, Bates. I want to know how my old friend is faring. I would very much enjoy reading about your success and your happiness.”

John smiles. “Thank you, milord. Truly.”

“I have as much to thank you for, Bates. Now take care. You too, Anna.”

“We will, milord,” Anna says, slipping her hand into John’s as it rests in his lap. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” Lord Grantham says, and then reaches through the motor’s window to clap John on the shoulder. In that instant they are not lord and valet, servant and master. They really are comrades in arms, brothers.

And then the motor begins to move, pulling away from the grand Downton estate. Anna leans across John’s body to wave at those who have come outside to say goodbye, feeling tears threatening. But they are happy tears. She twists in her seat to watch Downton’s majestic walls begin to shrink behind her. John’s hand is strong on her back as he imitates her, his head resting against her shoulder. When they round the last bend and Downton disappears from sight for the very last time, Anna turns back in her seat. John’s eyes are anxious as they regard her.

“Are you all right?” he asks her.

Uncaring that Mr. Branson is in front of them and can hear every word that they say, she lifts his hand and presses her mouth against his knuckles.

“Yes,” she breathes, muffling the words against his skin. “As long as I have you, I’ll always be all right.”

Together, they begin to prepare for what their new beginning will bring.

\-- --

At exactly one o’ clock, they are herded onto the train, and settle themselves down in their compartment. Their bags rest beside their feet, and Anna sits with her head tucked against her husband’s neck, exhausted enough to close her eyes and allow the motion of the train to lull her to sleep. John, however, can’t sleep. He keeps a protective arm around Anna’s waist as she slumbers, unable to tear his gaze away from her. Her long, slender neck. Her nose, turned up just slightly at the end. Her hair, wispy blonde tendrils escaping from underneath her hat. Her skin, so pale and delicate. Her eyes, hidden from the world, so blue and honest. He loves every inch of this woman so much.

In that moment, he makes a promise to himself. He will try so hard to be worthy of her love. He will try so hard to be the man she needs him to be. He will try so hard to make things work in their new home. He will work so hard for her, make sure that she is never wanting for anything. Away from Downton, he will be allowed to flourish and grow. This new beginning will open up so many new possibilities for them.

He will do anything for her.

\-- --

They arrive at their destination on time. Anna disembarks the train bleary-eyed, John right behind her. The station is much smaller than the one at Downton, but it has a nice feel, a quaint feel.

“Come on, this way,” John says gently, hefting his case deftly into his left hand. Anna tightens her hold on her own case and follows her husband out onto the main street. They stand there, taking in the smell of salt in the air and the loud squawk of gulls flying ahead and the strong aroma of fish.

John begins to walk along the pavement and Anna hurries after him, turning her head to look at the view of the iron-grey sea barely a few hundred feet from where they are now. She’s never been to the seaside before, and she feels a swell of excitement at it all, as though she is a young girl again.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she gushes to John, who smiles at her enthusiasm. “It’s beautiful!”

“Cold, though,” John says, his tone amused. “We’ll go down there tomorrow. You can have your first taste of the seaside.”

“That would be lovely,” Anna sighs. Already, she is feeling as if this is the best thing that she has ever done. John seems so much more relaxed, out here in the open, fresh air, away from the pressure and unpleasantness of his experiences at Downton. His smile, for the first time in months, is completely genuine and unspoilt. Anna breath is taken away by how much younger it makes him look.

They continue walking along the promenade side by side. Anna can’t stop staring. There is so much to see here, so much to take in. John isn’t as enamoured as she. He’d once told her that his mother had always brought him to the seaside for their annual short break.

_“It was my favourite time of the year,”_ he’d said.

Now, gaping around in fascination, Anna can see why. Children charge along the beach, shrieking happily. Ice creams are being sold along the front. Simple, ordinary folk walk hand in hand along the sands.

It is the perfect place to raise a family, she thinks, and the perfect place to start over.

\-- --

And then, at last, the moment that she has been waiting for arrives. After walking for a little over ten minutes, they arrive at their destination. And Anna can’t help gasping.

Standing in front of them, tall and proud, is the most beautiful hotel she has ever seen. It is tucked into a secluded corner of Scarborough, on top of one of the majestic hills, overlooking the town. It is not huge—it can’t have more than perhaps twelve rooms—but to Anna, it couldn’t be better. Suddenly, without knowing why, tears spring to her eyes. They blur her view of the hotel in front of them, but she can’t stop them blossoming.

John places his bag down in front of him, turning to look at her. She keeps staring ahead, and he tentatively slips his hand into hers, his eyes anxious. She manages to tear her gaze away from the hotel to look at him. She knows how worried he’s been about this move, worried that she won’t like their new home. When they had decided that moving away from Downton was the best thing for them, John had tentatively brought up the old dream that they had spoken of years before, ensconced together at the servants’ hall table, believing that nothing could go wrong for them.

_“What if we buy a little hotel?”_ he’d asked shyly. _“I wouldn’t have to worry about finding work to support us, and you wouldn’t have to worry about finding another position either. And we can still work together every day, like we’re used to.”_

_“I’d like that,”_ she’d answered softly, reaching up to kiss him. _“I’d like that very much.”_

So they’d planned, visiting hotels that they’d heard to be for sale, dismissing the ones that were too big, or too expensive, or too far away from the place where they’d put down roots. The one in Scarborough had been an exquisite find; the couple who had owned it had been cordial and pleasant in the written enquiries, and the price had been affordable. John and Anna had sold his mother’s house to pay for it, and even had a little left over to store away for a time when it might be needed.

_“In any case,”_ John had said, not without a touch of cynicism, _“no one wants to rent a property owned by a convicted murderer.”_

It had been true. The tenants in the London home had been scarce ever since his name had been connected to it. Most of the time it had simply sat there, empty. In this way, they’d decided, it could be used to help finance their future.

Before now, Anna has never clamped eyes on the hotel that they have purchased. On the day when they had been due up to inspect it and finalise the deal, Anna had fallen ill. John had wanted to stay home and look after her, but she’d insisted on him going.

_“But how will I know if you’ll like it or not?” _he’d asked worriedly. _“I don’t want to buy somewhere where you’re not going to be happy, Anna.”_

_“If you like it, I’ll like it,”_ she’d reassured him firmly. _“Now go.”_

He’d left her clutching the little basin in their bathroom, pale and sickly. When he’d returned, he’d told her that he’d signed the deed for the hotel and it was now theirs. They had been given six weeks to confirm it with their employers before they would move.

Neither of them had voiced it, but both had thought that perhaps they might be marking the beginning of a new chapter in their lives with the start of their family. Sadly, this hope had been eradicated a few days later when Anna’s cycle—usually so punctual—had started up.

Still, she’d told herself, there was plenty of time for all that.

Now, standing in front of their very own hotel, she is overcome with emotion.

“Do you think you’ll like it here?” His voice is nervous, tender. His palm is sweaty against hers.

The tears that she has tried keeping at bay begin to fall. Can she imagine them being happy here? She thinks of them, serving others, contributing to the enjoyment of their stay in Scarborough. She thinks of them collapsing, exhausted, into bed at night, yet suddenly finding the energy to make love when they hold each other close. She thinks of them with a couple of children, juggling work and family life, smiling and laughing and joyful.

Yes, she can imagine them being very happy here.

Somehow, through her tears, she manages to turn to look at him, smiling tremulously. “Yes, I do. I think I’ll like it very much indeed.”

This first look at her new home has calmed any remaining insecurities. Everything is going to get better. With this fresh start, everything is going to be perfect.

“Come on, let’s go inside,” she says, releasing his hand so she can pick up her bag. With a relieved smile, he follows her.

\-- --

They leave their bags in the lobby, moving around the open space. It’s fairly big, though sparse—there’s the front desk and a couple of sofas and tables set off to the side and that’s it—but Anna decides that it is very cosy and welcoming. Now that their hands are free again, the two of them lace their fingers together while John shows her around, nervously relaying everything that the previous owners had told him about the place.

“They even have showers installed in the bedrooms,” he tells her, looking mystified by the idea. “They have a man who knows his business, and they employ him to keep the standards up on them. They also employ two maids…”

Anna lets him talk, not really paying attention to the things that he is saying, much more content to listen to the sound of his voice. She can’t remember the last time he spoke for such a length of time, or so passionately about something. Squeezing his hand, she lets him lead her from the ground floor to the rooms on the first corridor. He is still talking, telling her how the rooms are the same on each of the three floors. They have been left unlocked, and Anna steps in after her husband.

The rooms really are beautiful. Cream walls and dark oak furniture, obviously well cared for. Golden sheets on the beds. The beds themselves look extremely soft and inviting. Anna moves towards the window and gasps. The view is spectacular. From her vantage point, she can see the ocean roiling in the distance. She can see little specks—people—scurrying around like ants. She can see the sweep of the little houses and shops. It all looks so lovely.

John moves behind her, sliding his arms around her waist. His head drops to her shoulder, and he nuzzles lovingly against her neck, his lips brushing her warm skin. She shivers.

“You’ve no idea how relieved I am that you like it,” he murmurs against her skin, kissing her now.

She strokes his hands, which are linked on her stomach. “I love it.”

He turns her then, his mouth finding hers. Her arms lift themselves to wrap around his neck, and she rises onto her tiptoes in a desperate attempt to get as close to him as possible. He groans in the back of his throat, one hand possessive on her lower back, and she pulls away from him then with great reluctance. They can’t afford to get distracted just now. They haven’t finished inspecting yet.

“Come on,” she says, offering him one last kiss. “I want you to keep showing me around.”

“Isn’t a man allowed to take a detour?” he asks her teasingly.

She moves towards the door, casting a flirty glance over her shoulder. “I want you to stick to the planned course for now. There are plenty of chances to take the scenic route later on.”

“Oh Lord, Anna,” he says, and follows her out of the room.

\-- --

The rest of the hotel is as beautiful as her first impressions of it. Now there is only one more place for her to see. John leads her to a window that overlooks the back of the hotel. There is a small green field and, tucked right at the bottom of it, there is a little cottage.

Their home.

John stands behind her again like he did in the guest bedroom, his chin atop her head. He is still playing the expert. “Mr. Jones said that he and his wife always lived there while they ran this place. If there were ever any problems, one of the workers on the night shift would run down and fetch him. It means that we can work all day and still have the night to ourselves as a family. It’s much better than you taking the day shift while I work the night.”

“Much,” she agrees, wondering when they would have ever found time to spend together if they had had to work on such a hectic schedule. She is immensely glad that there will be staff to cover the night. “Are we going to go down and see it?”

He nods. “We’re all done here. We’ll come back up tomorrow—the staff are meant to be coming in in the morning to see us, and we’ll spend a few days getting to know how things run before…”

“Before we start getting it ready for opening?”

“Yes.”

“Well, come on then,” she says. “I want to see what the space we’ll be sharing is like.”

“It could look like a stable, my darling, and I’d just be grateful that we’re together.”

She smiles at his words. “Mr. Bates, if you’re trying to flatter me in order to make me more receptive to your delightful charms, then it’s not going to work.”

“It’s not?” She can hear the grin in his voice.

“It’s not.”

But, inside, she swells with love.

\-- --

The cottage is more perfect than she could have imagined. The front room is large and spacious, holding a settee, a chair, a table, and a little bookcase. The kitchen is smaller, but still more than adequate, with a stove and a second table that seems too big for the two chairs it has tucked under it. There are various cupboards, not yet filled.

“We’ll have to go shopping tomorrow,” Anna comments as she notices this. “We can’t very well live here without any pots and pans or food.”

“I’ll bring us some soup for supper tonight,” John says. “Then tomorrow we can go into town and pick up the essentials.”

Upstairs, there are three bedrooms and a bathroom. Anna had not been expecting that. The bathroom holds a bath and a basin and even an indoor toilet. The first room is fairly small, holding nothing but a bed and a wardrobe. The second is larger, but doesn’t hold anything more than the first room. The biggest room—the one that overlooks the hotel—is also equipped with bedside cabinets and a vanity table. The walls are a sunny lemon colour. They promise happiness in this new beginning.

John moves the bags that he has carried upstairs onto the bed, getting ready to unpack and start making this house a home for them. Anna, however, reaches out and stills his movements.

“Anna?” His dark eyes are questioning as she slowly eases them from his hands drops them from the bed, onto the floor.

“We can sort them later,” she says. There is so much love welling up inside her, growing stronger and stronger by the minute, that she is sure she’ll burst if she doesn’t find a way to get it out in the open. Now she needs to feel his skin against hers, needs the physical manifestation of their love for each other. She flicks open the first two buttons on the front of her dress. John’s eyes are on her at once, watching her movements with breathless anticipation.

When she shrugs the dress off to pool around her feet, he leaps into action, dropping his cane to the floor and sweeping her up into his arms. She grins at him, fully pleased by how quickly he’s broken, then slips his jacket from his shoulders.

“You’re a little overdressed, my love,” she purrs as he lowers her onto the bed.

His mouth captures hers to silence her, and that’s the last coherent thing that is said for a while.

\-- --

Afterwards, they restore their clothing and head into the town for soup from the local pub. They hold hands the entire way and, instead of bringing their supper back to the cottage, they find a wall overlooking the ocean to sit on, consuming it in relative silence as they drink in their new view.

“I _am_ happy, you know,” Anna says at last, breaking the quiet. “I know you sometimes worry that you’re not making me happy…but you have no idea how happy I’ve been this last year. I know it’s been trying for us, but as long as we’re together, I know we can face anything that comes.”

“I do worry sometimes,” he admits. “I worry that I’m holding you back, that I’m ruining your chances of having a fulfilling life. I know that I’ve been difficult this past year. I know you’ve found it trying sometimes, especially when…especially when I found it difficult to be close to you. I had no right denying you anything because you’ve already put up with so much by standing by me, but you were still patient enough to wait until I was ready.”

“Of course I was,” she replies. “Why would I have walked away from you then? It was just a matter of time until things started getting better for us. I knew I had to keep hoping that you’d come out of it stronger. And you have.”

“Only because I have you,” he says softly. “I don’t think I could have carried on without you.”

Silence reigns again. They’ve said all that they needed to say. They sit there a while longer, watching the last of the families leave the beach for the night, watching the gulls swoop low to steal bits of food that have been abandoned on the front. The sun is setting now, casting a brilliant orange light over everything. Anna leans her head against John’s shoulder, and he wraps his arm around her. They sit there and watch the sun set on the first day of their new beginning.

\-- --

They make love again when they return home, slowly and gently, a counterpoint to the passion of earlier. John’s soft grunts of exertion are music to Anna’s ears as she moves to meet the thrust of his hips, and she whimpers her own pleasure, the intimacy of the darkness increasing her gratification tenfold. They kiss softly whenever they have enough breath to do so, their mouths moving voluptuously over the contours of each other’s faces. The bed sheets are pooled around John’s ankles, the temperature in the room already soaring. Sweat pools in the small of his back; one of her hands rests there, driving him on. When she feels the tightening low down she lolls her head back, giving him access to her throat. John moves his hands from where they had been curling in the pillow by her head to her hips, pulling them up higher, altering his angle—he always knows when she’s nearing completion. Seconds later she’s crested the peak, and trembles in his arms as he guides her through the rush of emotions, whispering words of love into her ear. When she wilts against him he redoubles his own efforts to find release. It comes barely half a minute later, and she cradles him between her thighs as he sinks down on top of her, too exhausted to move. His weight is a comforting one, and she strokes her hands through his hair as he rests his head heavily on her chest, utterly exhausted. Together they pant for breath, lying quietly in the darkness, waiting to recover from their labour.

John eventually lifts his head from Anna’s sticky flesh, moving to flop onto his side of the bed—the side that has always been his so that he can lie on his side and put his weight on his left leg rather than his right. She rolls onto her side to face him, eyes searching his in the darkness. He lifts a hand to her face and brushes away the errant strands of blonde hair that are sticking to her skin. She sighs happily as his fingers linger against her cheek.

This is better than she could ever have envisaged. Downton already seems like a fond and distant memory. There is no longing to be there, no missing the hustle and bustle of their lives. They are making their own way now, and she knows that she is going to enjoy every second of it. She doesn’t need Downton to be happy. She just needs her husband. And already he seems so much more relaxed, away from the house. How can she possibly regret their move if he is going to be so much lighter, so much freer, away from that place? This new beginning is going to be the best thing that they’ve ever done. She knows it.

John continues his ministrations for a few seconds, then pulls his hand away. Although most of his features are obscured by the cloak of darkness, she knows him well enough by now to know that he has something to say. She props herself up on an elbow, arching her eyebrow at him, though she isn’t sure if he can see it.

“What’s the matter, John?”

He fidgets almost boyishly as he raises his gaze to hers. “I was just thinking.”

“I thought we’d already decided that _I’d_ be the one to do the thinking in our relationship. Nothing good ever seems to come of it when you’re the one who has to think,” she teases him, letting her fingers trail down his hairy chest.

“Isn’t the reason we’re here right now to do with the fact that I thought?” he argues good-naturedly.

“I suppose I can give you credit for that. Now what is it?”

He shrugs shyly. “I was just thinking about children.”

“Children?” She sits up completely now, unable to disguise the surprise in her voice.

He mirrors her actions, tilting his head to the side. “I know we’ve never really talked about them, not for years, and God knows I wasn’t in the right state of mind to be a father when I first got released from prison—I was barely fit to be your husband—but now…now I think they’d be nice. When you were ill and I thought that you might be pregnant, you have no idea how happy I was. I mean, I was also terrified…but I wanted it to be true. So when it wasn’t…”  
“I know what you mean,” she reassures him. “But is now really the right time?”

“What?”

“Well…” She gestures around at the room. “We’ve only just got here. We’ve got so much to organise before the busy season starts. We need to get into a rhythm of running a hotel. We have staff to manage. We’ll have customers. We’re not going to have much time to ourselves, are we?”

“You mean that I’d better make the most of these few weeks while I can?” His tone is teasing, but she detects a note of disappointment in his tone.

She reaches forward, wraps her arms around his neck. “John, I want children with you. You have no idea how much I want them. But I think we need a few months to get things sorted out here and actually be together properly as husband and wife in a way that we couldn’t really be back at Downton…and then, perhaps once this first season is out of the way, we can start trying for a baby properly.”

His own arms wrap around her waist. “You’re right, of course.”

“I usually am,” she says playfully, then drops her voice seriously. “Children will come, John. I know they will.”

He kisses her once, then lies back down. She follows him, moulding herself around his left side as he lies on his back, pulling the covers up over their bodies as the temperature of the room drops back down.

They lie quietly for a few minutes, before Anna speaks. “You were right about one thing.”

Her husband turns his head, inhaling the scent of her hair. “Was I really? About what?”

“We need to put the next few weeks before opening to good use.”  
“In what way?”

She hides her smirk under his chin. “Well, there are a lot of rooms in that hotel.”

“And?”

“And we don’t have a lot of time to christen them all in in between getting them ready for the grand opening.”

John is stunned into silence for a few moments before he manages to choke a response, albeit a completely inarticulate one. “Anna!”

“What?” she says innocently. “Don’t you find the idea terribly exciting?”

He closes his eyes. She knows he’s fighting the mental images of them together like that on whatever surfaces are available in each of the rooms. “I certainly do…but where would you get such an idea from?”

“Really, Mr. Bates,” she giggles, “you always say that I’m unladylike and a naughty girl, and yet you’re always so surprised when I prove you to be right. And, to answer your question, I heard some maids discussing it when they visited Downton a long time ago, saying how they’d been unfortunate enough to discover their master and mistress in the act several times in the most unconventional of places. It sounded terribly intriguing. I always wanted to try it out in our old home, but we never seemed to find the time. Now we can do it here. We can start tomorrow.”

He groans aloud, a sound of longing. “Mrs. Bates, you’re asking me to partake in such scandalous activities when our staff are going to be wandering around the place?”

“Now who’s the one with the impure thoughts?” she grins as she rolls onto her other side, back to him.

“But you just said—”

“I never said anything about starting with the hotel tomorrow, Mr. Bates. There are plenty of good rooms in this very cottage to warm us up for that. Plenty of _private_ rooms.”

His arms are around her in a second.

“I suggest you keep talking,” he growls breathlessly in her ear, pressing his front against her. She smirks triumphantly into the night.

“Well, the table in the kitchen looks like it’s the perfect place for making love…”


	7. House Guests

  1. _ House Guests_

This morning, Anna is running decidedly late, and she curses silently as she glances at the little clock that ticks happily away over on the lone set of drawers. She doesn’t have much time left now to make things as perfect as possible. She’s currently in the spare room, attempting to put sheets on the little bed. Thankfully, the sheets on their own bed have already been changed, but she still has to tidy the sitting room for a third time just in case she’s missed a speck of dust. John stands leaning awkwardly against the doorframe as she works. She can feel his eyes following her every movement as she expertly folds the sheet underneath the mattress and plumps the pillows.

“You’re not helping,” she says without looking up.

“Well, what do you want me to do?” he asks, pushing off from the doorframe and crossing the room.

“You can stay there, for one thing,” she warns as he sidles up behind her and presses himself against the length of her back.

“All right,” he says innocently, but there is no mistaking the way that his hand is starting to creep. She knows that he is just trying to hide his apprehension behind a mask of indifference, but it’s not helping that he’s distracting her in the process.

With a great effort, she pulls away from him. “Mr. Bates, you need to start taking this visit seriously.”

“I am,” he says, his face dropping. “You know I am.”

She raises an eyebrow. “By attempting to hinder my progress at every turn?”

“You were the one who started it earlier!”

She hides her contented smirk from him by turning back to the bed. She can’t really argue with that, though she would swear until she was blue in the face that it was merely to keep his mind on other things.

John peers over her shoulder, trying to make light of the terrifying situation. “I hope you realise that both of your parents aren’t going to fit in there.”

“That’s because they’re going to share our bed.”

“Don’t you think that that would be an uncomfortable situation?”

She smacks his arm good-naturedly. “Don’t be silly. My parents will use our bed for the duration of the stay. We will not.”

John’s eyes widen. “But where does that leave us?”

Anna shrugs. “You’ll sleep in here. I’ll take the sofa.”

“I can’t let you do that,” he says at once.

“The sofa isn’t going to suit your knee, John.”

“Your parents wouldn’t approve if I allowed you to sleep on the sofa. I should at least give them the impression that I’m a gentleman.”

“So it’s only a façade, is it?” she teases. “What a pity that is.”

“Well, if that’s the way you feel, I’m sure I can be a reformed character,” he huffs teasingly. “No more sneaking away from my duties at Downton just to give you a kiss, no more waking you early so that we have time to make love before we go to work…”

“All right, all right,” she laughs. “But really, give me a hand with this. They’ll be arriving soon and I haven’t even had the chance to put Mum’s favourite flowers in a vase yet.”

“I still think it’s unfair that a man can be kicked out of his own bed,” he says as he moves around to the other side to tuck the sheet more firmly under.

“You’re a grown man, you’ll survive.”

He reaches for her across the bed, pulling her forward as she squeals in protest, buries his nose in her hair. “Perhaps I won’t. I don’t remember what it’s like to sleep without you.”

She leans into his touch, resting her head against his shoulder, parting her knees upon the quilt so that her balance is steadier. “Well, I hardly think my parents would appreciate it if we left one of them to sleep downstairs. Believe me, I’d rather not have them as our houseguests, but I’m afraid that we don’t have much choice.”

He sighs, lifts his hand to his head to run his fingers nervously through his hair, clearly remembers that that will only mess it up, lowers it again, and heaves another sigh. “I know. It’s just a bit of a daunting prospect, meeting your parents this way.”

“What, already married as opposed to just courting?” she teases.

“Well, your parents can’t like me for it.”

She makes a non-committal noise. “I’ll be sure to remind them that it was me just as much as you, then. Now, you really must let me get on, otherwise I’m going to have to explain why there’s a pile of our clothes in a heap on the hallway floor.”

John pales and releases her at once.

\-- --

Anna stands on the path just outside their little cottage, peering into the distance to see if she can spot any sign of her parents. John stands behind her, fiddling with his tie. She turns to see him struggling and, with a slight smile, reaches up and brushes his fumbling fingers away so that she can adjust the tie herself. He surrenders the task easily, resuming Anna’s charge of peering down the path outside their cottage.

“Nervous?” she asks him gently, giving his tie one last flourishing tug.

“Not at all,” he says, but he is even less composed than he had been earlier. In fact, he looks decidedly sick.

“It’ll be all right,” she reassures him, leaning up to kiss him briefly. He responds for a moment, before the quiet is shattered by an excited shriek.

“Anna, darling!”

The two break apart at once, looking a little sheepish, and together they turn in the direction of the cry. A woman rushes towards them, skirts billowing, one hand holding her hat onto her head. Anna turns to give John one last reassuring look before stepping forward.

“Mum!” she calls back, and waits for her parents to arrive.

\-- --

John stands behind her awkwardly as her mother reaches her and flings her arms around her. Anna manages to catch her balance before she topples over, and hugs her back with equal fierceness. There is something about the love between mother and daughter that is so open and honest that John finds that he has to avert his gaze. His gaze instead lands on the man who is just puffing up behind them, carrying a travelling case in each hand. He can only be one person.

“How’s my little treasure?” Anna’s father asks as he drops the bags down by his feet with relish.

Anna’s smile is radiant as she allows herself to be swept up in his embrace. “Perfect, Dad. Just perfect.”

And then, finally, Anna’s parents turn their speculative gazes on John. He shifts uncomfortably under those stares, but then moves forward to stand beside his wife, offering his hand to them.

“Hello,” he says. “I’m John Bates. I hope your journey here went well.”

“It was fine,” Mrs Smith says, taking his hand cautiously. “Ellen Smith.”

“Frederick Smith,” Mr.Smith adds gruffly. He is a stout man, broad shouldered and rather short. His hair, once a fine blond, has gone grey at the temples.

John glances at Anna, unsure of what to make of Frederick Smith—of either of them, if he is honest—but she can only smile at him, looping her arm through her mother’s. It’s easy to see who Anna takes after. Ellen Smith is a few inches taller than her daughter, and she has the same pretty eyes that her daughter does. She, too, is blonde, though it is also beginning to grey. She begins to lead Anna in towards the cottage, barely sparing John a second glance. Her attention is focused solely on Anna.

“You have no idea how happy your father and I were to receive that letter from you inviting us to your home. In fact…”

Anna shoots her husband a glance over her shoulder as her mother continues to chatter. It is a look of loving exasperation. Despite his disquiet over the way that Anna’s parents have disregarded him, he manages to return it with a smile.

Anna had stated that it was his fault that they’d ended up inviting the Smiths to say, though he isn’t sure that he is entirely to blame. A few weeks ago, Anna had been putting a letter together to wish her eldest brother, Freddie, a happy birthday. Mrs Smith had replied, commenting on the fact that it had been such a long time since she’d last seen her only daughter and, on the day that Anna had been guiltily formulating an answer, John had been unable to leave her alone. He’d just returned from a week accompanying Lord Grantham to London—his very first trip away since his terrible incarceration—and every little movement that she’d made, from absently curling a stray strand of hair around her finger to biting her lip while she tried to find the right words, had been absolutely irresistible to him. So, feeling extremely amorous, he had set about distracting her, pawing eagerly at the front of her dress, laying insistent kisses, nips and licks against the sensitive skin of her neck. Instead of stopping him, she’d let him continue, growing increasingly hot and bothered as he’d set about rousing her. In the end, the letter had been completely abandoned for the more urgent business of reacquainting themselves with each other after a week apart. Anna had sent it absent-mindedly the next day, bearing the vague sentence of:

_John and I have actually been granted the weekend off in a few weeks’ time._

Instead of writing back for clarification on what they might be doing over those precious two days’ holiday, Mrs. Smith had jumped at the opportunity presented to her.

_Excellent_, she’d written back. _Your father and I would be delighted if we could come and visit you in that time. Freddie will be left in charge of the farm—it will give him a good grasp of the duty that will be his one day._

_“Honestly!”_ Anna had growled in exasperation when she’d received the reply. _“She’s always doing this!”_

_“Doing what?”_ John had asked nervously.

_“Meddling! When our Sammy left home, she pestered him for weeks about getting to see where he was living, until he just had to relent. I do love her, but she can be so tiresome sometimes. And now she wants to come here.”_

_“She does?”_

_“Yes. She’s already planned it all. She’s decided that she and Dad are coming up when we have the weekend off.”_

John had almost choked on his cup of tea. _“That soon!?”_

_“Yes,”_ Anna had sighed. _“But I can write and put her off.”_

_“You don’t have to do that.”_

_“What?”_

He’d sighed. _“Look, I’m going to have to meet your parents one day. I’ve not met them once yet, and I’ve known you for nine years. That’s rather terrible.”_

Her smile had been nostalgic. _“I suppose. Well, if you’re sure. I want you to be comfortable.”_

_“I’m sure I will be.”_

But he hadn’t expected it to be quite like this.

\-- --

This just isn’t ideal, Anna thinks guiltily as she follows her mother indoors. She loves her parents and does miss seeing them more often, but she would rather have met them under more neutral circumstances. Perhaps an afternoon in a town between Downton and the farm. Having them here, in the middle of her life with John, only gives them more fuel to pass judgement. She has never let John know about their aversion to him. It would only have served to make him doubt that he had done the right thing by tying them together, even with their fierce love for each other, but she can’t protect him now they are here.

Her parents had been absolutely furious that she’d dared to marry John Bates without telling them, and that John had dared to take her to the altar before God without asking for her father’s permission—especially when they had never met each other before anyway. _How do we know what sort of man he is? _her mother had written furiously not long after John’s arrest. _If anything, this is proof enough that he’s the wrong sort for you, Anna._

Anna had gone to visit them at the farm when she had felt strong enough after his reprieve, but her parents had still been adamant that he was wrong for her. The preconceived ideas that they’d had about him had certainly not worked in his favour. An almost divorcee, until the convenience of his first wife’s death. An accused murderer, despite Anna’s vehement protests to the contrary. A great deal older, making them warier than ever. No, they hadn’t liked the sound of John Bates at all.

But they’ve overcome worse things than disapproving parents, she thinks. They can do this too.

\-- --

Anna busies herself with filling the kettle while the Smiths eye John suspiciously. He isn’t sure where to look, so he awkwardly moves towards the cupboard to pull out some cups for the tea.

“I didn’t know you had a cane, Mr. Bates,” Mr.Smith begins, breaking the silence. “Anna failed to mention lameness in your long list of—_ahem_—qualities.”  
“Dad!” Anna says furiously, rounding on him.

John closes his eyes, squeezing them tight. He can feel the first stirrings of a headache. He has been judged by countless people over the course of his life, but never before has it really mattered what people think of him. Now it is of the utmost importance, because these people are not strangers. They’re Anna’s parents, who will guard her best interests with the greatest ferocity. He knows that no matter what they say, it will not change Anna’s opinion of him—in fact, if they think badly of him, it will only make Anna love him more fiercely, because she is stubborn like that—but he does not want to be faced with animosity from them if they ever choose to visit again or decide to extend the invitation back to them, or, God willing, are given grandchildren. He wants them to at least wholeheartedly know that he has Anna’s best interests at heart and that he will always do his best by her, no matter what.

So, ignoring the stab of hurt that he feels at Mr. Smith’s harsh tone, he turns to face him, keeping his gaze steady and his voice level. “That’s right, sir. I’m afraid I was injured many years ago fighting the Boers. It was bearable for a while, but it got worse a good few years ago. That’s not to say that I can’t manage perfectly well, though.”

Mr. Smith flushes at this as Anna continues to glower. “I never meant to imply that you couldn’t.” Everyone in the room seems to know that this is a lie.

After a moment’s pause, Anna breaks the silence. “Come on, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping. John, do you want to finish making the tea?”

John nods and, seeing how her parents are still staring at him, she moves determinedly over to his side. She reaches out for him boldly and snakes her arms around his shoulders. He stiffens under her touch, wary of what she has planned, and she strokes her fingers soothingly over his shoulders.

“Thank you, love,” she says, and then stretches her little body up so that she is on her tiptoes. With a sudden thrill _(dread or excitement?)_, he realises that she is going to kiss him in front of her parents. And then her lips are on his, soft, lingering. Her scent fills his head and makes him dizzy. In that moment, with her proving a very defiant point to her parents, he doesn’t think that he has ever loved her more. The kiss is nothing like the ones of passion that he is accustomed to, but somehow this is even more fulfilling. It is chaste, but it leaves nothing in doubt for her parents.

When she pulls away, he chances a glance over her shoulder, feeling the colour rising in his neck. Mr. and Mrs. Smith are staring—in what, he can’t tell. Anna smiles as she notices his embarrassment, briefly brushing her thumb over his cheek.

“I’ll see you in a minute,” she says, and with that she leaves the room. Her parents are forced to trail after her.

\-- --

Once they’re upstairs, Anna shows them to the bedroom.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to sleep in here,” she says as her father moves to dump their bags on the bed. “The spare room is really only suitable for one person. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” her mother murmurs, though she looks slightly uncomfortable at staying in the space that her daughter shares with her husband.

“Where will you be sleeping?” her father asks her, moving to peer out of the window.

“I’ll be in the spare room. John will sleep downstairs.” Anna pauses for a moment. “And while we’re on the subject of John, I’d like to make my feelings perfectly clear. I don’t like the fact that you’re being so cold towards him. He’s my husband, and he makes me happier than you could possibly imagine. I want you to get to know him. If you did, you’d see that he is the best of men.”

Her father sighs, running his fingers through his greying hair. “Anna, understand this. He is a man who has been convicted of murder. It doesn’t matter that he was acquitted; the stigma is still attached. He’s nearer to my age than your age, and it’s obvious that he’d have no means to support you if he ever has to leave his current position for whatever reason. Would you want that uncertainty for your own daughter?”

“I _love_ him, Dad,” she says stubbornly. “We both love each other so much. I know you would’ve preferred things differently. I know you’d have preferred it if we’d married in a church with everyone around us, if he’d asked for permission, if he had a clean slate. But he’d do anything for me, and surely knowing that is more important?”

Her father sighs heavily. Anna knows he can’t argue with that. She faces him with her best imploring gaze.

“Please. Try to get along with him. We’re happy. I’ve never been as happy as I am now.”

He is clearly torn, but he finally relents. “Very well, Anna. We’ll give him a chance.”  
She smiles slightly. “That’s all I ask. Now, I’ll make a start on luncheon. We’ll show you around afterwards.”

She leaves them then, sorting their things out in her own little room.

\-- --

Luncheon is a quiet affair. Anna asks after the farm and her brothers, and Mr. Smith tells her that all is well. Her mother adds that she should visit more often.

Anna rolls her eyes discreetly. “We would, but it’s too far for our half-days. We’re lucky that his lordship has given us these few days off.”

More silence. Only the clink of cutlery against plates breaks it. John reaches for his glass of water and gulps it down. He can feel Mr. Smith’s eyes on him and tries to meet that gaze with a smile. Anna slips a hand under the table to squeeze his knee reassuringly.

“I thought we might take a walk into the village after lunch,” she comments lightly. “It’s a beautiful place…”

“That would be a lovely thing,” says Mrs Smith, smiling at her daughter. “Now, you mentioned in your letter that Lady Mary is pregnant…”

The two women chat happily while John and Mr.Smith sit quietly by, picking at their food. Anna keeps trying to bring him into the conversation with a proud comment, or a private smile, or a deft touch, but he refracts them with a weak smile of his own. He likes it better when the attention is deflected away from him. At least that way Anna’s parents are less likely to scrutinise him.

After lunch, Anna insists that her parents sit in the parlour while she clears away their dirty tableware. John gladly helps her, eager to be away from them.

“Are you all right?” she asks once they are in the kitchen, out of the way.

He nods, then hesitates. “Why didn’t you tell me that they don’t like me?”

Anna pauses at the sink, glancing over her shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t act oblivious, Anna. You must’ve been aware of it.”

She sighs heavily, and then crosses the room to his side. Wrapping her arms around his middle, she buries her head in his back. “I didn’t realise they’d be so hostile towards you. Yes, I knew that they didn’t really like you. Or at least the _idea_ of you. But they don’t know you yet. Give them a bit of time. Once they see how much we love each other, I’m sure they’ll come around.”

He turns and takes her up in his arms. He can’t be angry at her. It’s not her fault that her parents don’t like him. She smiles at him, obviously relieved to see that he isn’t brushing her off. Her eyes are filled with love. Yes, this is all that matters. As long as Anna continues to love him, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. But he can’t really blame Mr.and Mrs Smith. He doubts that he’d be too thrilled if it was _his_ daughter who’d chosen such a path in life.

“I hope they do,” he murmurs into her hair. “Because I’d very much like for them to like me.”

“Well, if they don’t,” she says, “just remember that _I_ still like you.”

He chuckles a little at that, squeezing her tightly. “I thank God for it every day.”

“Anna?” Mrs Smith’s voice interrupts them then.

John makes to pull away from her. Anna holds tight, turning towards the doorway where her mother is now standing.

“What’s the matter, Mum?” she asks, still not making any attempt to let him go.

“Your father was just wondering if you were nearly finished. I think he’s rather eager to see the village.” Her gaze lingers on the pair, but Anna doesn’t seem bothered by the scrutiny.

“We’ll be just a few more minutes,” she answers. “Go and fetch your coats.”

Mrs Smith nods and retracts herself from the room. Anna turns to him with a grin.

“It’s a good job that we don’t have to live with them regularly,” she murmurs. “Otherwise I don’t think we’d ever get any time alone. Come on, let’s go.”

He presses a kiss against her hair and lets her detangle herself from his arms. They quickly tidy the kitchen up, then head out into the hallway, where Anna’s parents are already waiting for them.

\-- --

Despite everything, they have a nice time in the village. Anna chats amiably all the way, her hand tucked snugly in the crook of John’s arm, and John even chips in quietly, clarifying something that Anna has said, or relating some interesting historical titbit that he knows. They show Mr. and Mrs. Smith around the small number of local shops, pointing out the Grantham Arms and the Dog and Duck. They show them the local church and the pretty flower gardens and the rows of quaint little houses, all pieces of their everyday lives. Anna tells them a little bit more about her duties for Lady Mary, and Mr. Smith even enquires about a valet’s responsibilities. In turn, John manages to get him speaking about his farm. Although the conversation is somewhat stilted, John notices that Anna can’t help but smile. It’s progress at least.

They go for tea at the local teashop, squashed together on a round little table. He and Mr.Smith have an awkward argument about who should pay, John stating that he should since they are his and Anna’s guests, Mr.Smith countering it with a reminder that Anna is his daughter, and therefore he would like to treat her. Anna eventually intervenes, biting back a smile, telling them that John will pay today, and her father can treat her tomorrow.

Afterwards, they wander back towards the shops, indulging Mrs Smith’s claim that she would like to look for a new book. Mr.Smith retorts that it’s not a new book she’s after but a new piece of jewellery for their anniversary, which is coming up in the next month. Anna laughs, a happy, free sound, and John can’t help but smile at the sound of it. She flashes him a grin of her own as she catches sight of him staring at her, and then leads him into the shop, teasing her mother over her shoulder as she tells her that a book about fine women in jewellery is just the thing to cheer her up.

Anna and John are awarded a moment’s privacy as Mr.Smith follows Mrs Smith to browse the shelves. Anna leads John in the opposite direction, subtly taking his hand and leading him towards a section of books hidden towards the back.

“I’d like a new book as well,” she says mischievously.

“Is that your way of telling me that you’d also like some new jewellery too?” he teases her gently, giving her hand a squeeze.

“No, it’s just my way of saying that I’d like a new book.” Her tone is far too innocent.

“And what new book is this? Something by Jane Austen? Charlotte Brontë?”

“Not quite,” she says. “I’m thinking of trying a new author.”

“You certainly do know how to surprise me. But will it be another one of those terrible romances?”

“I’m not sure about terrible romance,” she replies lightly, running her fingers over the bound volumes on the shelves, “but I have heard that there is a certain amount of romance within the pages.”

“Now I really am curious.”

She comes to a pause in the middle of one of the shelves, hesitating for a second before pulling a book free with a rather wicked grin. John takes in the title on the front of the book. _The Financier_.

“Anna May Bates,” he says, shocked, “surely you can’t be serious?”

“Why not?” she asks innocently. “It sounds terribly exciting.”

“It’s terribly sordid.”

“So you told me many years ago,” she murmurs. “Ever since I caught you reading it in the servants’ hall that night, I’ve wanted to read it for myself.”

He remembers that day, so long ago, not long after she’d confessed her love for him; how awkward he’d felt to have her stumble across him reading something that was not entirely approved of by society, and how she’d promised with twinkling eyes not to tell Mr. Carson about him because she didn’t want him to have a heart attacke, obviously not offended in the slightest.

He arches an eyebrow now. “So why haven’t you?”

“Well, I’m sure that I would have been the talk of the village if I’d purchased it from here. And,” she lowers her voice so that it is barely above a whisper, “I’ve heard that some scenes are really rather risqué. It would have been a pity if I’d read them and had no means to relieve myself of…certain aches.”

John makes a choked sound, eyes wide. “Anna!”

Her grin is wicked and he feels a ripple low in his body. He wishes fervently that her parents were not here.

“What?” she says innocently.

He shakes his head in wonder at the creature that he’s married. He isn’t quite sure what to say.

“So will you buy it for me?”

“I’m not sure I quite dare with your parents just across the room.”

She huffs in mock exasperation. “Some man you are, Mr. Bates! Where’s your soldier’s courage?”

“It deserted me as soon as your parents turned those withering gazes on me, I’m afraid,” he replies airily.

“And what about your promise that I’d never want for anything?”

His eyes widen. “Surely you can’t use that against me right now! Do you _want_ your parents to chase me from the cottage, never to see you again?”

“It would be worth it for the book.”

“And how would you cure your unfortunate aches without me?”

Anna’s grin is far too naughty. “I think I’ve picked up a few tips from you over the last few months. I’m sure I could do it alone.”

The blood in his veins reaches fever pitch. Christ, the images that fill his head. His Anna is a siren. She will be the death of him one day.

“Give it here,” he growls, unable to do anything but concede defeat.

She presses the book into his chest with a triumphant smirk. “Thank you, darling. I’ll even save it until my parents have gone home, just in case I really do feel the need to…relieve anything. I’ll be good enough to let you help.”

He wants to groan, so settles instead for breathing hard through his nose. She pats his arm, then waltzes back to the front of the store with an extra spring in her step. John can only shake his head in wonder as he watches her leave. Truly she is a woman like no other.

Cautiously, he follows her back to the front, veering off towards the counter. He feels a little flustered now that he has to pay for it. Anna had been right earlier. They know people here. What will they think of him buying such an ignoble book? It hadn’t mattered when he’d read it the first time because it had been hidden surreptitiously in a corner of Lord Grantham’s library. No one had known about it then. But actually going out and purchasing it—for Anna, no less!—makes him feel a little uneasy.

Down at the front of the store, he glimpses Anna with her mother. She offers him a little smirk when she catches his eye, pretending to be engrossed in whatever her mother is saying. Mr. Smith is nowhere in sight. John assumes that he is still browsing the shelves.

“What have you got there, Bates?”

John jumps at the sound of the voice next to his ear, jerking round to find Mr. Smith standing behind him in the queue. Eyes wide, he attempts to fumble with the book, shifting it out of the way of his father-in-law’s curious gaze.

“Not a lot,” he says quickly. “Just a book on…” His gaze flickers wildly, coming to rest on a stand beside the counter. “A book on flowers. For the garden.” He cringes.

“Flowers for the garden?” Mr. Smith raises a questioning eyebrow. “You don’t strike me as the gardening type.”

_Probably because of the useless leg,_ John thinks, possibly somewhat unfairly, but manages to smile all the same. “Oh, it’s certainly a relaxing hobby for my half-days, Mr. Smith.”

“I know a little about gardening,” Mr. Smith says gruffly. “Farming does tend to give you the knack. Perhaps you can show it to me later and I can give you some tips.”

Oh, good God. What a thought that is. Under normal circumstances, John would have been grateful for the opportunity to try to bond with his father-in-law. Now the notion fills him with fear. If Mr. Smith ever does find out about this little transaction, John is rather sure that he will find himself dodging a fist. Or worse. Nevertheless, he forces a smile, and is thankfully called forward to pay. He has a feeling that the back of his neck is red. Hastily paying for the book and indebted that it is placed in a paper bag, he moves away from the counter to where Anna and her mother are standing.

Anna’s smile is wide and knowing as she slips her arm through his when he comes to a stop at her side. “Did you get everything you need, darling?” she asks.

“Oh, yes,” he answers through gritted teeth, shooting her a look. She’s unaffected by it, waiting for her father, and then leading them out of the shop.

On the way home, they lag behind just slightly, listening to her parents arguing over whether Mrs Smith should get the jewellery she wants or not after all.

“You owe me a great favour,” he murmurs to her under his breath as she drops her hand from his arm to slip it into his. He can’t help squeezing her fingers.

She cocks an eyebrow at him, her smile wicked. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“Your father enquired about the book I was buying. I told him they it was a book on flowers to give me ideas of what to plant.”

Anna can’t contain her laughter at that. “A book about flowers?”

“Well, what else was I supposed to say?” John says defensively. “I couldn’t very well tell the truth!”

“No, but surely you could have come up with something a little less daft than that?”

“It was hard to think under pressure!” he says heatedly. “And now your father has offered to look at it with me later on!”

“Oh, that must mean he’s warming to you!” Anna says happily. “I’m so glad about that. You’ll get on splendidly once you get to know each other.”

“Yes, that’s all well and good,” he mutters, “until he finds out that I’m buying rather sordid books for his daughter.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Anna says lightly. “It’s your books, not mine. Dad knows that I’m the golden child of his family. He knows that I’m the model of decorum at all times. But my husband on the other hand…”

John splutters at her words, looking horrified. “Anna, he’s going to think that I’m a lecherous old man!”

“You’d just better pray that we have some old flower books lying around the cottage somewhere,” she teases.

“Anna Bates, you are going to be the death of me,” John groans. “I thought you wanted your parents to like me?”

They are interrupted then by the sound of Mrs Smith calling them. “Anna, what are you lagging behind for?”

“Coming, Mum!” Anna calls back, and begins to drag John along with her. He lets her, too shocked to do anything else.

He wonders if he’s got time to lose his purchase before they reach home.

\-- --

Luckily, Anna is kind enough to distract her father from his idea of passing on his gardening tips with her sweet charms, something that John will forever be grateful for, even if she was the one to get him into the mess in the first place. They talk some more about the life that they have, from Mrs. Smith’s criticism of the curtains that her daughter has chosen, to worry that the cottage isn’t warm enough in the winter. John reassures them quietly that it’s more than adequately warm when the fire is going.

“And don’t worry, Dad,” Anna chips in teasingly, “John doesn’t make me fetch the coal for him.”

When it’s time for dinner, she stands up and announces that her parents are to stay there until it is ready. John stands eagerly, keen to help her, following her into the kitchen and setting the table for dinner. He probably gets under her feet more than he helps, but she doesn’t say a word. When they sit down to eat, the conversation flows more easily than it has all day. It is still rather stilted between John and Anna’s parents, but it is at least a little better than it had been earlier on.

Afterwards, Mrs. Smith insists that she should help tidy the kitchen up, and Mr. Smith takes it as an opportunity to turn to his son-in-law.

“I’d like a word with you, Bates,” he says.

John feels his apprehension rise all over again. “A word?”

“Yes, a word. Can you please step outside with me for a moment?”

“Dad, what are you trying to achieve?” Anna interrupts suspiciously, turning from the sink where she is washing the dirty dishes. “Can’t you just leave him alone?”

“It’s all right, Anna.” John tries to sound reassuring, but he isn’t sure that he’s quite mastered it. Turning to Mr.Smith, he tries to smile easily. “Lead the way, sir.”

They leave through the back door.

\-- --

Anna stares at the door anxiously. She hasn’t moved in a full minute. Ellen sighs.

“Really, Anna, your husband is a grown man. I’m sure he can take care of himself.”

“I’m not so sure,” Anna mutters. “When Dad gets started on something, he never lets it drop.”

“A bit like someone else I know,” says Ellen. “Now stop trying to eavesdrop and come and finish these dishes.”

Anna sighs dramatically, but does as she’s told. Silence fills the kitchen for a few moments as both women work diligently.

“So,” Ellen says, “now that we’re alone, I’d like to take the opportunity to talk a bit about subjects that men aren’t as comfortable with.”

“Oh, God,” groans Anna. “I thought I was too old for these conversations.”

“Don’t be so cheeky. And you’ll never be too old for some motherly advice.”

Anna arches an eyebrow. “Motherly advice? Mum, really. There’s absolutely nothing I need advice on.”

“All right, then,” she says. “Perhaps it’s not advice I want to give. But I do want to ask about you and your husband.”

“What can you possibly want to ask about John and me? Haven’t you already asked enough silly questions today?”

“I haven’t asked you any silly questions, thank you very much. It would put my mind at rest to know that he treats you well.”

“Mum, you’ve seen how he treats me. How can you possibly think that he doesn’t treat me well after today?”

“I wasn’t thinking about in everyday life.”

“You’re not making any sense whatsoever.”

Ellen sighs and stops drying the dishes that Anna is putting on the side. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, am I really going to have to spell this out? How does your husband treat you when you perform your _wifely duty_?”

Anna almost drops the plate that she is holding between wet hands, yelping and blushing furiously. “Mum, we are _not_ talking about that.”

“Oh yes we are,” Ellen argues. “I worry, darling. Your husband is so much bigger than you are. Is he careful?”

Anna moans in utter humiliation, dunking the plate furiously beneath the surface of the water. Her ears glow. “If I tell you that he’s careful, will you please let it go?”

“But you’re not just saying that to make me shut up, are you, darling?”

“No!” she says. “Of course not.”

“So he’s gentle? He doesn’t force himself on you?”

“He’s not some kind of animal, Mum! He never does anything that I don’t want, and he’s never forceful. In fact, I don’t think I could ask for a more considerate man.”

“Well, that’s a relief for me to hear,” Ellen sighs. “And with you being so slight…”

“Mum, please. Let’s not go there anymore.”

“But—”

Her daughter fixes with a stare so ferocious that it would make any other woman quail. “Look, John is absolutely wonderful. In fact, I enjoy his attentions very much. I doubt I’ll ever tire of them.” With gusto, she turns back to the sink, refusing to look in Ellen’s direction. Her ears are redder than her mother ever seen them.

Ellen doesn’t quite know how to react to such a statement. She certainly hadn’t wanted to know _that_ much information herself in the first place—a nice reassurance was what she’d been looking for. She hadn’t been intending to carry on the conversation once she’d received that, no matter what Anna had seemingly thought.

At least it’s better than him being an absolute brute, she comforts herself.

It’s the only thing she can take comfort in.

\-- --

John shivers slightly as he moves forward to stand beside Mr. Smith. The nights are growing chilly again already. Rubbing his hands together, he watches as Mr. Smith pulls out a rather battered looking packet of cigarettes, offering one to him. John hesitates for a moment—he’d given up smoking in the first place because of Anna’s obvious distaste of it all those years ago—then slides one from the box. He’s going to need something to steady his nerves. Since a drink is out of the question, it looks like a cigarette will have to do. Taking the match that Mr. Smith offers him next, he silently curses to find that his hands are shaking. He shouldn’t be this nervous. He is a great deal taller than Mr. Smith is. He should not find him intimidating.

But as the older man fixes him with a penetrating stare, he finds that he can’t help it, reduced to a young boy trembling in his boots, awaiting the verdict from his girl’s father.

“I’m not going to lead you on a merry song and dance,” Mr. Smith says gruffly at last, turning away to exhale a plume of smoke. “I just want to know a few things.”

“Of course, sir,” John says quickly. “Whatever it is, I shall try to answer as best as I can.”

Mr. Smith nods in acknowledgement. “I can respect that. Now, I want this to stay between you and me.”

“Of course, sir.”

“And I don’t want you to get offended. Our Anna seems to get quite indignant when I say anything, but I want you to know that I’m not saying these things to be insulting.”

“I quite understand, sir,” says John in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. “I’m sure I will have heard far worse in my lifetime.”

Mr. Smith nods, then turns back to face him, craning his neck a little to look him in the eye. “Then, firstly, I’ll ask you the question that’s been troubling me the most. Right now you have a comfortable life. You’re in a well-paid job. Anna is helping you to pay the bills. But what happens if you have to leave for some reason? You can’t very well live off Anna’s wages alone, and I wouldn’t feel at all comfortable about such a situation arising.”

John nods his head, understanding his concerns. “Believe me, sir, it’s something that often troubles me too. Don’t think that it doesn’t. I want to do what’s right by Anna, always. I know what she’s given up to be with me. I don’t pretend to understand any of the reasons why she would, and I can fully understand your concerns, but it’s there.” He pauses for a moment, raising the cigarette to his lips and inhaling shakily. “Put simply, sir, the fact of the matter is that I love your daughter. I’d do anything for her happiness. I know that my job isn’t going to be there forever for me, but Anna and I have a plan. One day, we hope to buy a small hotel somewhere near here, perhaps close to the seaside. We’re renting out my mother’s house currently, so we have comfortable savings. If we couldn’t buy a hotel like we want to, then I’d find something else to do. Pub work, anything. It wouldn’t be as comfortably paid as what I do now, but we could continue to rent out my mother’s house and live from that income too. It wouldn’t make too much difference to our lifestyle.”

Mr. Smith nods his approval at the fact that John has clearly thought this through, and his smile seems a little warmer. “I won’t deny it, Bates, it’s nice to hear you speaking so highly about my daughter. I like to know that she’s being well looked after.”

“Well, I’m a very lucky man to have her,” John says. “I know you think that I haven’t done a very good job of looking after her in recent years…”

Mr. Smith shuffles uncomfortably.

“…But you’re right,” he continues. “No one knows that better than I do. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d run away at the beginning. But she didn’t. All through my prison sentence, she stayed strong by my side. I don’t think I would have coped even a tenth as well if it hadn’t been for Anna. So now that I’m free to do so, it is my one goal to make Anna as happy as I possibly can.” He stops, taking another unsteady drag on the cigarette. “I’m not usually this open about my feelings, Mr. Smith. But it’s very important to me that you should know how much your daughter means to me. Is there anything else that you want to ask?”

Mr. Smith shakes his head. John knows he must have had many more questions than that when they’d first stepped outside. He hopes that his own earnestness has put his father-in-law’s mind at ease.

“No,” Mr.Smith says. “I think I’ve heard everything that I need to know.”

John nods. “We should get back inside. It’s getting colder.”

Together, the two men stub out their cigarettes, dropping them into the damp grass.

“Oh, and Bates?”

John turns around, raising an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Mr. Smith contemplates him for a moment. “If you ever _do _hurt my daughter, rest assured that I will personally hunt you down and beat you with your cane.”

John can’t help but smile slightly at that. “Believe me, sir, you would have my expressed permission to do so.”

\-- --

They move back towards the door then. John limps in in front of his father-in-law, and Frederick takes the chance to watch as his daughter turns the moment the door is opened. A smile brightens her face as soon as her husband walks into the room.

“You survived then?” she says teasingly, her gaze flickering to meet Frederick’s.

He watches as Bates moves forward towards her, and she meets him more than halfway, slipping her arms around his back. Bates tucks her against his side, and she grins up at him. Frederick has to admit that he has never seen a smile as bright as that on his daughter’s face since the time she was eight years old and convinced him to let her keep the stray cat that he had found. Over her shoulder, he finds Ellen’s eyes. She smiles at him softly. They might not be all that fond of John Bates, but they can’t deny that he and Anna are very happy together, and that’s all that matters.

\-- --

No one is long in retiring that evening. Mr. and Mrs. Smith turn in first, claiming that the travelling and the day has worn them out. Anna wishes them both a goodnight, standing to give them a hug in turn, before moving back to sit next to John, fitting herself snugly against his side. Once her parents have mounted the stairs, she shoots him a wicked grin.

“Alone at last,” she quips, and he can’t help grinning too. He’s still smiling when she leans in to kiss him, but it barely lasts a couple of seconds. Her expression twists with slight disdain.

“What’s the matter?” he asks her.

“Have you been smoking?” she says, wrinkling her nose.

He shuffles sheepishly. “I only had one. Your father offered it to me, and I was too nervous to say no. Forgive me?”

“Just this once,” she murmurs, ruffling his hair. They sit in silence for a while longer. John relishes the weight of her by his side. Eventually, though, Anna stifle a yawn.

“Tired?” he asks.

“Perhaps a little. I think I might retire now.” 

He nods, letting her up from the sofa, then follows her out of the room so that he can get changed into his nightclothes.

“Tonight is not going to be very comfortable,” he laments, picking up the blanket from the chair in the corner of the room. “That sofa’s barely big enough to sit on, never mind sleep on.”

Anna walks over and kisses him gently, lingeringly. “It’s just for two nights. Then we can have our own bed back.”

“I can’t wait for that,” he says. “Just to stretch out.”

She shakes her head, pushing him towards the door. “Goodnight, John.”

He caresses her hand softly before slipping through. “Goodnight, Anna.”

\-- --

John is awoken from a light slumber with a start when something drops onto his stomach. Thrashing and cursing as he adjusts almost drunkenly to his surroundings, he soon realises that he is not being attacked by a vicious intruder but his wife, only she isn’t attacking him, merely stretching out on top of him. He struggles up on his elbows, wondering what on earth she is doing down here, and she relents, sitting back on her heels until he is able to sit up.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack,” he says reproachfully as she moves back up his body now that he is sitting more comfortably, coming to sit on his lap.

She giggles, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. “Sorry, love.” She doesn’t sound sorry at all, moving to drop a kiss against his cheek.

“What on earth are you doing?” he murmurs as she transfers her attention to his jaw, wrapping her arms tight around him, tongue teasing the skin there.

“What does it look like?” she teases.

He has to breathe hard through his nose to stop himself from moaning. “Anna, your parents are just upstairs.”

“Your point?” she breathes.

“My point is that you’re meant to be sleeping upstairs, happily alone, and I’m meant to be suffering alone down here.”

“I’ve tried to sleep alone for the past three hours,” she says with a pout. “It’s not working. Come back to bed with me.”

“Anna, your parents will be just down the corridor. I can’t possibly sneak around with you when they’re under this roof!”

“Who says we’ll be sneaking around? I want you there so I can fall asleep, nothing more.”

“Nothing more?”

“You’ve a terrible mind, Mr. Bates. I just want you to hold me until I fall asleep. You can leave then if you’d like.”

“You promise?”

“What is this? Do you truly trust me that little?”

“I can’t possibly trust you again after your innocent claim that it was for the good of your health that we needed to leave last year’s cricket match early when I should have been keeping score. Mr. Carson said that his lordship’s expression was murderous when he found out that I’d gone. He kept throwing reproving looks at me for weeks afterwards. You know what he gets like when cricket’s involved.”

Her giggles are loud, and he feels compelled to quieten her with his lips over hers.

“Mr. Bates,” she says when they part, “what are you trying to insinuate?”

“That you’re a wicked faery,” he says simply.

“You could have protested.”

He blushes. “It was very hard for me to protest when you had your hands where you did.”

“And you told me that his lordship’s disappointment was a worthy exchange.”

He grins and nuzzles against her. “I suppose I can’t really deny that.”

She closes her eyes in contentment for a few moments, then pulls away enough to look down into his eyes. “Come on, Mr. Bates. Come back upstairs with me.”

With a long-suffering sigh, John relents. “Fine. Just until you’ve fallen asleep.”

“That’s a fair exchange,” she says, wriggling off his lap and extending her hand to him.

He takes her fingers and entwines his with hers, allowing her to lead him from the room. They move as quietly as they can, attempting to avoid the stairs that creak and holding their breaths when they inadvertently make a sound, freezing together in the darkness. John feels very much like a young lad sneaking out with his girl for the first time, without her parents’ knowledge. It’s terrifying and rather exhilarating at the same time. Still, he is thankful when they reach the spare room, and he turns to close the door quietly behind him as Anna drops his hand to move further into the room. She flings back the covers, then gestures for him to move closer. He does so, lumbering leisurely, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting in?” he asks her.

“After you,” she says.

“Anna, there’s not going to be enough room for the both of us in there.”

“Not if we lay side by side,” she says mischievously. “But if you lie on your back and I lie on top of you, then it’ll be perfect.”

His eyes widen. “And how am I supposed to get out of that when you’re asleep?”

“You’ll figure something out,” she says. “Now stop trying my patience and get in at once.”

He shakes his head at her, but is powerless to resist moving forward and slipping between the sheets. They’re cold now, Anna’s body heat long since evaporated from the fibres, and he shivers slightly as the cold burrows through his own pyjamas. Anna wriggles herself on top of him in the next instant, however, and the cold soon ceases to matter when she wraps her arms around him and tucks her head under his chin.

“Now,” he says, “don’t take too long getting to sleep, otherwise I’ll never be leaving here.”

“But I’m not very tired right now,” is her response.

“Anna, you’ve got to be sleepy. I can’t afford to stay here long. What if one of your parents gets up and finds me missing?”

“Stop worrying. They won’t. But perhaps you can make me sleepy to help speed up the process.”

“And how can I do that?”

“Well,” she breathes, pulling her head back so that she can look into his face, “I can think of a few ways.” The look in her eyes, dark and delicious and dangerous, makes his heart rate speed up at once.

“Anna…” he warns weakly. “You promised to sleep. That was my condition.”

“You can hardly expect me to sleep when I’m wide awake. I think we can use our time more productively than just lying here for hours until I nod off.”

She bends to kiss his cheek, and he tries to keep her at bay by pushing insistently on her hips. “You planned this from the beginning!” he accuses her reproachfully.

“Well done,” she coos. “You’re catching on. I’m so proud of you.”

He frowns, stopping her hands as they snake down to the buttons on the front of his pyjama top. “I won’t do it.”

“Says who?”

“Says _me_.”

“Well, your mind might be saying no,” she purrs, rubbing herself against him, “but your body most definitely isn’t.”

He flushes, embarrassed. She is right—his body is responding almost _too_ eagerly to hers. He curses the fact that she knows exactly how to rouse him.

“I won’t stay,” he says almost sulkily, trying to ignore the familiar tightening in his stomach. “I’ll go back down right now.”

She hums. “What, and dishonour your wife’s wishes? Would you stay if I said it was for a good cause? You could hardly hold it against me then.”

“How is this in any way for a good cause?”

“Well,” she says, “it’s quite simple. I’ve been lying up here alone for the past three hours, and all I’ve been able to think about is having you here in this bed with me. It’s left me feeling so hot and achy. You can feel for yourself, if you’d like.”

His breath catches in his throat as she guides his hand down, powerless to resist her, and he shivers when he realises that she’s not wearing anything underneath her nightgown. She holds his gaze boldly, his naughty girl, and he is unable to maintain it when he feels the truth of her statement, his eyes half-lidding. God, she knows exactly how to rid him of his willpower.

“Your parents,” he chokes again when she shifts against him. “Your parents are only down the corridor. We can’t do this while they’re in the house.”

“Oh, yes, we can,” she breathes in reply. She begins to shift her hips against him, rolling them in that way that he just can’t resist. It snaps the final vestiges of his willpower completely, and he can’t stop himself from leaning up and crashing his mouth against hers desperately, fingers clawing at her sides.

“Well,” he says when they part, sliding his hands to the back of her knees, “if we do this, you’re going to have to be very quiet.”

She pretends to be indignant, beginning to flick open the buttons on his pyjama shirt and running both of her hands down his chest when she’s succeeded in her task. “What are you trying to say, Mr. Bates?”

He brings his head up towards her, enjoying the sensation of her hands on his body. “My love, you’ve never been the most restrained of people when it comes to our intimacies, have you? I’m always grateful that no one seems to want to move in next door to us.”

“Cheeky beggar,” she murmurs, tilting her head back as he begins to pepper her throat in soft kisses. “I’ll have you know that I can be as quiet as a mouse when the need arises.”

“Then this I have to see,” he grins, hitching her nightgown up.

“Yes, you’ll have to see, because you won’t be hearing,” she retorts tartly, wrestling his top off him.

He reclines backwards, letting her slide off his bottoms so that he is naked beneath her. She throws her nightgown over her shoulder so she is as nude as he is. Slipping her arms around his neck, she sighs as she rests against him. The press of naked flesh against naked flesh is delicious.

His smile is wicked as he moves in to nip at her ear, in that space that he knows drives her wild, and she sighs again.

“Are you sure you really can keep quiet?” he asks her teasingly, moving his lips so that they graze the hollow of her throat. “You’re not doing a very good job so far. And if you’re too loud, I’m afraid that I’m going to have to stop.”

“Just growing accustomed to it,” she murmurs. “I’ll be perfectly fine in a few moments.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” she purrs, slipping her thighs either side of his legs. “In fact, let me show you how sure I am.”

\-- --

They lie together in a contented afterglow, a tangle of limbs and sheets. Anna’s head rests low on her husband’s chest. One of his hands passes through her hair lethargically. She doesn’t think that there has been a more perfect moment in her life.

“See?” she says drowsily, letting her eyes drift closed. “I can be quiet when the need arises.”

“You definitely squeaked at the end,” is his equally sleepy reply.

“And you certainly weren’t completely quiet either,” she retorts through a yawn.

“You cheated. You know I can’t help it when you do that.”

She giggles, wriggling until she is more comfortable. His fingers continue tangling themselves in her hair.

“I need to get moving,” he tells her. His tone is heavy with regret.

“What? Why?” she asks, finding the energy to twist her head so that her chin is resting against his chest.

“Because I’m supposed to be downstairs,” he reminds her. “And I can’t possibly risk your father finding out I was here while he was in the house. He’s already threatened to beat me with my cane if I mistreat you. I think this sort of behaviour would warrant a beating.”

“I’ve already told Mum that I enjoy your attentions very much, my darling,” she muses, feeling the tips of her ears grow hotter. “So I doubt Dad can beat you over that.”

“You told your mother that?” he asks, sounding torn between embarrassment and smugness that she had said those things to her mother.

“I’m afraid the words just came tumbling out,” she replies, nuzzling against his chest hair. She loves how it feels against her cheek. “She was asking questions about the two of us being intimate, and it was really rather horrible. It shut her up, though.”

“I’m sure it did.”

“I’m hoping that she doesn’t want to ask any more questions.”

“Me too. At least your father didn’t ask anything beyond what would happen if I lost my job.”

“Dad enquiring about something like that would have been terrifying. But he likes to bury his head in the sand whenever he can, so as long as he doesn’t find you here, you’re safe.”

“In that case, I’m going to leave you here now that you’ve had your way with me.”

She sighs dramatically, snuggling tighter against him. “Right at this very moment? They’re not going to be up for hours.”

“When my head is on the line, I must go right this moment,” he teases. But still, he seems entirely too comfortable to be truly inclined to move, and Anna isn’t going to make it any easier for him. Sighing softly into the night, she lets her eyes drift closed, soothed by the feel of her husband’s chest rising and falling beneath her head whenever he breathes. His hand resumes stroking its way through her hair. It feels wonderful. Several more minutes pass before he seems motivated to move again, shifting his body underneath hers. Anna, who had just started to doze, jerks awake at once.

“What’s wrong now?” she mutters groggily.

He sounds sleepy and amused. “I was going to dare to venture forth.”

She groans, muffling the sound against his skin. “You really do need to improve on your pillow talk, Mr. Bates. I’m not feeling very loved here.”

“Oh, believe me, you are _very_ loved.” His fingers slip from her hair to caress the side of her face.

She smiles at the sensation, closing her eyes again. “Can you at least wait ten minutes more? Just to let me have my fill of you? I’m very comfortable at the moment.”

“I suppose I can extend my stay to that,” he murmurs, returning his fingers to her hair. “Just ten minutes more.”

Silence takes over then. Two minutes later, his fingers slow in their meandering through her hair. Three minutes later, they have stopped completely.

Five minutes later, they are both fast asleep.

\-- --

The next morning, Ellen wakes early. She rolls over to peer at the little clock that she can hear ticking away on

the opposite bedside cabinet, to find that it is just after six in the morning. She sighs and turns to glower at the ceiling. It seems that even though they are away from the farm, her internal clock is cursed to wake her at the same time each morning. She’d been hoping that taking a couple of days away from the farm would give her a little time to recharge, but it seems as though it isn’t to be. Her husband, however, appears to have no scruples about slumbering well past his normal hour; his snores fill the air. Ellen exhales loudly. There is not a chance of her getting back to sleep now.

Swinging her legs out of bed, she proceeds to find her shawl, which she left folded neatly on the little chair in the corner of the room. For a moment, she listlessly wonders what to do next before brightening. Anna has spent more than fifteen years working as a housemaid up at Downton Abbey. Ellen knows that the hours for a servant are long and unforgiving, with ridiculously late finishes and painfully early starts. But surely after so many years as a servant, Anna will also have developed the habit of rising early, no matter if she has to or not? Yes, that certainly must be the case. Anna is very much like she is; they will be no different from each other in this respect.

Smiling now, Ellen quietly slips through the bedroom door and pads downstairs. She will make her daughter a cup of tea and take it up to her if she is not already pottering around in the kitchen. They can perhaps spend a nice hour chatting away, just like they used to, before they are disturbed by their respective husbands.

Ellen finds the kitchen empty, so she sets about making a pot of tea. She moves quietly, aware that her daughter’s husband is slumbering only a few feet away from her in the parlour. She briefly considers making a cup for him too, but then decides against it. She would feel awkward taking it through to him dressed only in her night things, and she is sure that he himself wouldn’t feel any more comfortable. Besides, then she would have to make conversation with him, and he isn’t the chatty type. Frederick had said last night as he’d readied himself for bed that he hadn’t asked anything else once he’d heard the man’s very sincere words about Anna, but Ellen is sure that he wouldn’t have had much else to offer anyway. And while their minds are a little easier knowing that John Bates’ intentions are nothing but completely genuine, it will take a while yet for their relationship to develop into one more befitting of mother and son-in-law.

Once she has made the tea, Ellen makes her way back upstairs, balancing two cups and a container of biscuits that she’d found in the cupboard on a tray. When she reaches the upstairs rooms again, she carefully sets the tray down outside the spare bedroom door and knocks softly.

No answer.

She knocks a little louder, but still there is no response. Frowning slightly, a little disappointed, Ellen turns the doorknob and pushes the door open just slightly, enough to peer inside.

There is no movement, no voice welcomes her in. But there is a soft, rhythmic sound—the sound of snoring. Her frown deepens. She hadn’t known that Anna snored. At least, she hadn’t when she’d lived at home. She pushes the door open a little wider.

And then she wishes she hadn’t.

Because the soft snores aren’t coming from Anna. They’re coming from John Bates. Eyes wide, Ellen takes in the scene before her.

John Bates is sleeping rather soundly in the bed that Anna had allegedly been using. One of his arms is thrown up above his head. And the other…the other is lost in a sea of loose blonde waves. She swallows hard. It is not the sort of situation that any mother wishes to find her daughter in. It would have been bearable if they’d been wearing clothes. But they aren’t, that much is clear. Ellen thinks that she might be sick. She feels rather light-headed. And yet she cannot tear her gaze away, no matter how much she might desperately want to.

Yes, their nightclothes are strewn all over the room, as though they’d been discarded in a rush. She spies Anna’s nightgown in the middle of the floor. Mr.Bates’ pyjama top hangs rather forlornly off the tiny set of drawers pushed up against the wall. His bottoms have landed near the doorway. And Anna’s undergarments are _(oh, dear God)_ folded neatly over the little chair in the corner.

And still she is staring. From where she is, she can just make out a little of John Bates’ chest. Broad and drizzled generously with hair, it moves softly with every breath he takes. Feeling absolutely horrified, Ellen’s gaze moves lower. Thankfully, she cannot see much more of his unclothed form when she reaches the middle of his torso, though the reason why is hardly any consolation: it is Anna herself who blocks her view. Her head is pillowed in the middle of his chest, and her face is turned to the side. Her expression is one of absolute contentment as she sleeps soundly, though Ellen can’t help incoherently thinking that her neck is going to be extremely stiff when she wakes. One of Anna’s arms is tucked under her head; the other hangs limply over the side of the bed. Her hair is a dishevelled mess, and it’s no wonder why, if the positioning of John Bates’ hand is anything to go by. Her slight shoulders and back are completely exposed to the cool morning air. Thankfully, the duvet begins then, draped across her hips, preserving at least a little of her dignity and sparing her mother’s blushes slightly. The rest of the duvet hangs haphazardly over the end of the bed, spilling onto the floor. There is no mistaking the fact that it was probably cast-off in a great burst of passion mere hours before, and has only been pulled there as an afterthought.

Of course, Anna’s completely honest, if embarrassed statement that her husband’s attentions were very welcome makes this scene not entirely surprising; reading between the lines, Ellen can clearly see that Anna enjoys the finer points of marriage with her husband. What shocks her most is the fact that they’d been daring enough to do such a thing when she and Frederick were only a few feet away, when John Bates himself was supposed to be sleeping on the sofa downstairs.

At that moment, Mr. Bates stirs, his arm coming from behind his head to rub at his face. Startled, Ellen leaps backwards, almost tripping over the tray that is still sitting on the floor, heart pounding fast. She can’t be caught here. Quickly bending down to retrieve the tray, she hears Mr. Bates cursing under his breath, then Anna’s sleepy tone asking him what’s wrong.

“It’s morning and I’m still here!” she hears him hiss in a panic, and she begins to back away quickly.

Not quickly enough though, it seems, as she hears her daughter’s contented response of, “it seems like our antics of last night made you as sleepy as they made me.”

Ellen practically falls through the bedroom door at the end of the landing, almost upending the tea. In the bed, Frederick is just beginning to stir.

“What in God’s name is going on?” he demands groggily, beginning to sit up.

Ellen shakes her head, mortified. “Believe me, you don’t want to know.”

He frowns. “That doesn’t sound reassuring at all.”

She closes her eyes, sees her daughter twined happily around John Bates behind her closed lids, and quickly opens them again. “Oh, it’s nothing too bad. There are just some things that are not worth knowing.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Now Frederick looks more intrigued than ever, apprehensive almost, but Ellen sets the tray down on the bedside cabinet, almost knocking over a framed picture of Anna as she does so.

“Never mind,” she says cryptically, and that’s all she’ll say on the matter.

\-- --

Later, when everyone is convening in the kitchen for breakfast, Anna asks if her parents had slept well.

“Like a log,” admits her father.

“All right,” her mother replies. She seems to be avoiding eye contact with both her and John. It is very strange.

“What about you, Anna?” her father asks, buttering himself a slice of toast.

She sneaks a glance at John, who is busy sipping his tea. “Oh, I slept wonderfully. It took me a while to drift off, but I’d had a very strenuous day, and after that I was dead to the world. My pillow was extremely warm and comfortable.”

John almost spits out his mouthful of tea, looking mortified. Anna had been prepared for that, but certainly hadn’t been prepared for her mother’s similar reaction.

“Mum?” she asks. “Is there something wrong?”

“Nothing,” her mother answers hastily. “I’m fine. But let’s not talk about sleeping arrangements.”

“All right,” Anna agrees, looking puzzled.

“Thank you, dear. Now, what have we got planned for today?”

“Whatever you want,” says Anna, still looking perplexed. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wonders if her mother perhaps knows more than she should.

But no, it’s impossible. She can’t. And it also doesn’t bear thinking about.

Anna pushes the thought away.

\-- --

The rest of the weekend passes in a blur. They visit the nearby town of Ripon for the day, Anna and John exchanging fond smiles as they pass the registrar office. Mrs Smith does manage to wrangle a new piece of jewellery out of her poor husband, much to Anna and John’s amusement. Mr.Smith treats them to dinner in the pub, then proceeds to interrogate John about the extra duties of a valet. He decides that he doesn’t like the sound of John leaving Anna behind whenever Lord Grantham has business outside of Downton, but Anna rolls her eyes and reassures him that she is perfectly capable of fending for herself for a couple of days—in any case, Lord Grantham’s time away from Downton is becoming more and more infrequent. Her father frowns at her, but she ignores him in favour of grinning at John. Although he is still gruff with him, it does appear that Frederick Smith is warming just slightly to him. John expects it has a lot to do with the short talk they had had the previous night.

When they return home it is getting late again, so Anna fixes them all a quick supper and then they retire to bed after yet another awkward conversation about their sleeping arrangements (Mr.Smith is kind enough to ask if John had a comfortable night there on the sofa—_“it’s so small, after all”_). John says that he managed well enough. He hates lying. Anna’s mother looks ill for reasons that he can’t fathom.

John resolves to stay on the couch all night when he returns back downstairs in his night clothes, though the prospect isn’t a very appealing one. Despite what he has decided, however, he is once again shaken from a light, uneasy doze a couple of hours later by his wife sliding down on top of him.

“Shh,” she whispers after his initial grunt of protest.

“What are you doing down here?” he says. “You’re not fooling me again, Anna.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. You enjoyed it enough last night.”

“That’s beside the point. I’m not going to risk it again.”

She rolls her eyes. “Then it’s a good thing that you’re not the one doing the risking tonight.”

“What?”

“Well, you kept me company in the bed last night. I thought I would extend the same courtesy to you.”

“You can’t be serious. There’s not enough room here for me, never mind for you as well.”

“Charming. You know how to treat a woman, Mr. Bates.”

He sighs. “Last night was very dangerous. We could have been caught in a very compromising position.”

“But we weren’t. And we won’t be tonight.”

“You’re never usually this daring,” he observes. “I don’t understand it.”

“I find it terribly exciting,” she confides lowly, “knowing that my parents are here.”

“That’s because you’re a naughty girl,” he growls.

She moves her lips to the sensitive spot just below his ear. “I’ll show you how naughty, if you’d like.”

He groans at the rough quality of her voice. It’s not a question of wanting. It’s a question of fear. “Anna, we can’t.”

“We can,” she breathes, slipping her hands beneath his shirt and seeking out the sensitive skin of his sides. He stifles a moan, tilting his head to the side. She takes the opportunity to flick her tongue along the underside of his jaw, drawing herself more firmly onto his lap.

He is powerless to stop the groan from escaping from his throat, moving his hands helplessly to her legs and searching for the hem of her nightgown.

She shushes him again. “You don’t want to wake my parents, do you?”

He shakes his head and she kisses him then, taking his breath away. They soon find their clothes being more than a little burdensome, and they are discarded to greet the floor within minutes. There’s no room to lie side by side, but John makes the most effective use of what they have, coaxing her over, pulling her back tight against his front, hooking her leg over his. His lips never leave the sensitive skin at the side of her neck, and she doesn’t quite manage to keep quiet.

Afterwards, they lie in silence, simply enjoying the cool air against their heated skin. John continues to nuzzle softly at the back of her neck and shoulders, knowing that that’s one of Anna’s weaknesses when it comes to their lovemaking, and she strokes her fingers slowly and gently over the arms wrapped just below her breasts. Her head is pillowed rather uncomfortably against the raised arm of the chair, but this doesn’t seem to bother her.

“Are you planning on staying here all night?” John whispers into the silence at last, moving his lips so that they brush against her ear.

“Why, don’t you want me?” she says sleepily, pushing back further into his warmth.

“Of course I do. You ought to know by now that I don’t like sleeping without you.”

“So what’s the problem?”

He can’t help smiling a little. “Well, I’d rather that your parents didn’t find us in such a compromising position.”

Anna yawns widely, dismissing his concerns. “Don’t worry, they won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because Dad has always been a heavy sleeper and Mum won’t come down without him. In any case, we’ll hear them on the stairs first.”

“Then shouldn’t we at least get dressed? We won’t be caught unaware then.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Stop worrying, John. We won’t be caught unaware.”

She hasn’t said the words, but he knows what she is thinking. Anna has never liked getting dressed after making love. She likes the intimacy of their skin pressed warmly against each other, of the smell and feel of being pressed so close together that there’s barely an inch of space between them. Truthfully, John loves the sensations too: of her hair falling about them, tickling him softly; of her legs tangled with his, so smooth and delicate; of the curve of her bottom pressed firmly against his groin. The intimacy is gone with the replacement of clothes. He doesn’t want that tonight.

Soft breathing reaches his ears. With a start, he realises that Anna has drifted off to sleep in his arms, no doubt worn out by the pace of the day. He smiles, pressing a kiss into her hair. Searching for the edge of the blanket that has miraculously not fallen off the end of the sofa, he pulls it up over Anna, tucking it under his arm to keep the heat in. It’s more than enough to keep him cosy.

\-- --

They don’t stir until John is jolted awake by the loud creaking of the stairs. Heart pounding, he curses as he attempts to slip from beneath her body.

“What are you doing?” she groans as he succeeds in toppling off the sofa, frantically scrambling around for his unwanted pyjamas.

“Your parents!” he hisses in a panic, throwing his shirt over his head. “I told you that this was a very bad idea!”

Anna’s response is decidedly unladylike as she practically flies off the sofa to sweep up her own nightclothes. Footsteps pause by the sitting room door and they stand together in utter horror, John still halfway into his bottoms and Anna clutching her undergarments guiltily in both hands.

They both heave a sigh of relief when the footsteps move quietly into the kitchen.

“Thank God,” Anna breathes, hastily beginning to move again.

John nods in agreement, though his heart is still beating nauseatingly fast. They finish dressing as quickly as possible, casting nervous glances over the couch, which is looking decidedly forlorn. They attempt to make it as presentable as possible, fluffing the pillows and folding the blanket neatly. There is nothing that they can do about the dishevelled state of their hair.

Anna moves towards the door and John follows her, trying his utmost to not look guilty. He hopes that her parents won’t be able to read the story of their night in his face.

\-- --

“Morning, Mum,” Anna says as she pushes open the kitchen door to find her mother filling the kettle, hoping that she sounds convincing. “You’re up early.” Her father is nowhere in sight.

“No earlier than usual,” she replies, then stares at them suspiciously. “What are you both doing up?”

“What do you mean?” Anna asks breezily, moving towards the cupboards. “We’re used to getting up early. Isn’t that right, John?”

“Quite,” he agrees, shuffling nervously across the room so that he doesn’t have to meet her mother’s eyes.

Her mother raises an eyebrow. “I never heard you moving about, Anna. I’ve been awake for more than an hour, so you must have risen at an unseasonable time!”

“Oh, yes,” Anna says, feeling the tips of her ears beginning to redden. “The bed wasn’t very comfortable.”

“Yesterday you said that your pillow was very warm and comfortable. I’m sure that that would help _me_ sleep.”

“Did I say that?” Anna says, flustered. “I can’t remember.”

“Oh, you most certainly did.”

“It doesn’t matter really,” she dismisses quickly. “I just had to get up. And John doesn’t really sleep for long, so I knew that he’d probably be awake. Anyway, I’ve forgotten something. I’ll be back in a minute.”

She flees the room without a backwards glance.

\-- --

“And what about you, Mr. Bates? How was your night?” Ellen asks when her daughter has disappeared. She doesn’t even know why she’s asking, but it brings her some grim satisfaction to watch him squirm. From their responses, it is quite clear that the two of them have been sneaking around again. The thought makes her feel sick to the stomach, but there is nothing that she can do about it. If she has to feel uncomfortable, then she’ll jolly well make them feel uncomfortable too.

“It was adequate, thank you,” he replies quickly, busying himself with the sugar bowl.

“Adequate?” Anna interrupts, returning with a shawl. “I would have hoped that it was better than that!”

“Well, there’s not much room on the sofa,” he says stumblingly, feeling the colour rising in his face. “And it was rather cold. I didn’t have many blankets.”

She stares him down for a moment longer, then shakes her head. “Of course.”

“I don’t know why you’re taking such offence to that anyway, Anna,” Ellen comments lightly.

“I don’t either,” she mutters, trying not to scowl.

“Though surely you could have found a way to keep warm, Mr. Bates?” Ellen continues innocently.

The man’s neck is bright red. “I suppose I could have.”

“Still, it must have been hard, what with you not having much room. Or any blankets.”

Anna and Mr.Bates exchange horrified glances, obviously having a silent argument over who should be the one to change the subject. Anna arches an eyebrow and Mr.Bates obviously loses, for her lets out a sigh before speaking again.

“What time are you thinking of leaving?” he asks politely. It is a lame attempt to defuse the awkwardness that has settled upon their shoulders.

“What, will you be glad to get rid of us already?”

“Oh, of course not!” he says hurriedly. “We’ve very much enjoyed having you here.”

“That’s kind of you to say so, lad.” It feels strange to be referring to a man who is almost as old as she is as lad and she doubts that it is true, especially since they seem to be getting in the way of their more amorous activities, but it brightens Anna’s face, and she supposes that that is all that matters.

Mr.Bates moves towards the sink, and Ellen watches them together as Anna slides over to him to grab for the milk, her hand slipping lovingly across his back as she reaches across him. He turns to smile at her then, soft and loving. Ellen sighs. He’s not the most suitable candidate for her daughter. He never will be. His age, infirmity and past will always be a mark against him. But she can tell just from looking at him that he adores her daughter. And she knows that that is better than her being trapped in a loveless marriage. Perhaps she can finally learn to accept him. She had not been pleased to hear the news that her daughter had married behind her back, especially when she had discovered the baggage that came with John Bates. But in the two days that she has spent in their cottage, it couldn’t be clearer that the two are very happy together. And, if their rather horrifying antics are anything to go by, they are clearly both enjoying the physical intimacies that marriage brings. Even if she is still disgusted by their behaviour, it’s nice to know that her daughter is happy and comfortable enough to enjoy those intimacies. And she doesn’t doubt that it won’t be long before the patter of little feet will be heard—especially if they continue on as they currently are.

At that moment, Frederick clatters into the room, already dressed in his clothes. He raises a questioning eyebrow to see both Anna and Mr. Bates still clad in their night things, and they blush under his gaze like two teenagers caught kissing for the first time. Mr. Bates excuses himself to get dressed, obviously feeling uncomfortable, and Anna follows him a few seconds later, asking her mother to take charge of the breakfast for just a few minutes.

“What is with those two?” Frederick asks as he slips into a seat at the table.

Ellen shakes her head. “Believe me, dear, the statement from yesterday still stands. You don’t want to know.”

\-- --

They stand in the front garden to say goodbye. John shakes hands with her father first, and then offers his hand to her mother. Both accept it and shake back with slightly more warmth than they showed at the beginning of the trip. Her father sweeps her into his arms then, kisses her lovingly on the cheek, and gruffly tells John to take care of her.

“You have my word, sir,” he answers solemnly.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Her father ambles away then to allow her mother a moment with her. John turns away, pretending to be interested in the outside of their cottage while they exchange their goodbyes.

“You’ll have to come and visit the farm soon, Anna,” her mother says as she grasps her hand.

Anna nods. “Can John come too?”

“Of course he can, dear. He’s your husband, after all.”

“I’m glad you’ll have him there. I know you weren’t so keen initially…”

“He loves you, dear. We can both see that.”

“I’m glad. He makes me so happy, Mum.”

“I know, love. Write to us when you get more time off. You can come and visit us then.”

“We’d love to,” Anna’s eyes drift over to her husband.

“But you’d have to promise me one thing, Anna.”

“Hmm?” She turns back to her mother with a frown. “What’s that?”

“You’d have to promise to keep your marital relations to an absolute minimum on the visit. The last thing your father needs to know about is how the two of you are enjoying yourselves.”

Anna almost chokes upon hearing those words. “Mum, what on earth are you talking about!?”

Her mother fixes her with a penetrating stare. “Don’t play coy with me, Anna May Bates. I know a bit too much about your excursions over the last couple of days. Believe me, I wish I didn’t, but the fact remains that you really aren’t careful enough. I am truly appalled by your behaviour—”

“—Mum!”

“—But the fact remains that you and your husband are very happy together. Just don’t let me hear about any indiscretions while you’re visiting us.”

Anna is more flustered than she’s ever been before, but is saved the trouble of finding a response as her mother pats her once more on the shoulder and moves away to join her husband. The only thing that Anna can do is wave limply in return to her mother’s enthusiastic air-kissing. John moves back to stand beside her, slipping his hand into hers.

“What’s the matter?” he murmurs as they watch her parents turn the corner. “You look as if you’re running a high fever.”

Anna shakes her head, still looking mortified. “I don’t know how, but my mother seems to know every…less savoury detail of our weekend.”

John’s eyes widen. “What!? How!?”

“I don’t know,” she says helplessly, then begins to mutter sullenly under her breath. “But she always did know when I was doing something I shouldn’t be. It’s like the woman has a sixth sense or something.”

“I will never be able to look your mother in the eye ever again,” John mumbles. “Now she’ll just think that I’m a vile animal who can’t keep his hands to himself.”

“She probably knows that I’m as guilty as you are,” says Anna.

“That doesn’t make it much easier.”

“Well, as long as Dad doesn’t find out.”

“Is that likely?”

“I hope not. Otherwise he might make good on his threat to hit you with your cane.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

She leans up, kisses him. “It’s as reassuring as it’s going to get, I’m afraid. God help you if we ever have children.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” she says, stroking his chest soothingly, “as far as he’s concerned, you and I have been doing nothing but handholding for the entirety of our marriage. He’s going to be absolutely horrified at the thought of us doing more.”

John looks mildly alarmed. “But how else does he expect us give him grandchildren?”

She smirks. “I think he still thinks that the stork brings them to our doors.”

“He has you and three sons, and you all came the normal way, I should hope.”

“Oh, it’s only the thought of you and I that makes him feel queasy. He was pleased as punch when Tommy announced that his wife was pregnant.”

“Well, that’s rather unfair.”

“It’s because I’m his only daughter. He’s more protective.”

John groans, burying his nose against the crown of Anna’s head. “If I’m going to get beaten with my cane for daring to get you pregnant, I’m not sure that the idea of children is so appealing anymore.”

“So I can’t tempt you to practise with me on this last free day?” she asks innocently, though there is nothing innocent about the way that her hands snake low on his body.

His breath catches in his throat. “Perhaps I can be tempted just to practise,” he chokes.

“Good,” she breathes, taking his hands and pulling him back towards their cottage.

“Shouldn’t you still be feeling embarrassed that your mother knows that the two of us were doing things that we shouldn’t have been while she was under this roof?” John asks as he allows her to pull him inside. “I know I am.”

“Perhaps,” she hums, pulling him towards the stairs. “But right now all I can think about is a book that we really need to start reading together.”

“But you haven’t changed the bed sheets yet. I’m not sure how comfortable I’d feel…_reading_ with you when I know that your parents were only there a couple of hours ago.”

“John?”

“Yes?”

She thrusts her hips against his, begins working on his stiff collar. “Shut up and kiss me.”


	8. Series One, Episode One

_ 8\. Series One, Episode One _

It has been a long couple of weeks. Everything he does has been scrutinised, catalogued and stored away, no doubt to be spoken about in hushed voices when he isn’t around. He tries not to notice, and he tries not to care. He doesn’t manage either very well. Because of course he notices. How can he not when the room falls silent when he enters, met with looks that are either guilty or hostile? How can he not care, when this job is his lifeline, when he needs to prove to everyone that he really _can_ manage, that he can still do a good job? Having only his lordship and the housemaid, Anna, on side is a little disheartening—and even then his old comrade treads carefully around him, as though he is a fragile doll, offering to pick things up when he drops them and tiptoeing around the subject of extra work. His injury needn’t be a bother, but people are making it one. And that is frustrating.

Briefly, he wonders if the dining room has been cleared yet. The maids had been sent up to help twenty minutes before. Dinner won’t be long now. He himself had stayed in the servants’ hall for a few minutes after the maids had left, trying to concentrate on his reading, but that had proved a futile exercise; Miss O’Brien’s eyes had prickled and burned his skin, leaving him incapable of taking in even one word on the page. He hadn’t liked that stare. It had been too calculating. So instead, he’d excused himself, announcing that he had a few things to mend after their meal—he would therefore fetch them before so that he wouldn’t need to waste time later. Those twenty minutes had passed quickly. His lordship hadn’t left the boots in the place where he’d said he would, and that had left John seeking them out around the dressing room. In the end, he had found them hidden in one of the cupboards, but precious time had been wasted.

No doubt the others waiting for his return are thinking that he is struggling to carry the load. But he isn’t.

At least, he hadn’t been until now.

He’d decided to leave the boots in the boot room until after dinner. But now struggles to open the door with the boots in one hand and his cane in the other. He curses in his head, trying to juggle them more firmly in his left arm so that he can hook his cane over his wrist, but it is proving impossible. If he doesn’t watch out, he’ll end up dropping everything all over the floor, and then that will be the second time that he’s humiliated himself tonight.

“Let me.”

At the sound of the voice John jumps, wheeling around to face the person who has caught him in difficulties. He relaxes just a fraction when he realises that it’s only Anna. She smiles softly. Clearly she has just come from helping tidy away upstairs. Still, he flinches inside to know that this is the second time in the space of barely half an hour where she’s seen him weak. He doesn’t want that.

“There’s no need,” he tells her, turning away, though he tries to soften his words with a smile before he does so. He expects her to linger for a moment longer before slipping away, the message received, but she surprises him.

“Mr. Bates, anyone can have their hands full,” she says, and her voice is full of nothing but friendliness. No pity. Just understanding. He feels his heart beginning to warm at the fact that she isn’t tiptoeing around him as though he is some invalid. Momentarily, he is stunned by her complete disregard of his impediment, and she takes the opportunity to slip in front of him. Her hand brushes against his arm, and he catches the slight, lingering scent of lilies and polish. It’s a nice smell. She reaches out for the door handle and pulls it forward, standing against it to keep it open while he puts down his things. For once, he lowers his guard, smiling at her openly as he lays his items in a neat line. There is so much that he should say to her, but in the end, he can only formulate two words.

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t seem to need to say any more, because the wide grin that she throws back at him tells him that she knows exactly what he’d meant in that one phrase. For a moment they keep standing right where they are, but a noise further down the hall rouses them from their own little world. Anna shakes her head as though to break the spell, then waits while he steps out of the room, letting go of the door.

“We’d better get moving, or they’ll start without us,” she says.

Is it just him, or does she sound a little flustered?

It’s not something he can dwell on, so he pushes it away and grins at her again. “Just let them try.”

He begins to chuckle, and Anna joins him, and they stand in the hallway for just a few more moments, sharing their secret encounter.

By now, Anna is definitely a friend. And, John muses, he’s never known a finer one.


	9. Upstairs/Downstairs

_ 9\. Upstairs/Downstairs _

Lady Mary is staring at her expectantly through the mirror. Anna isn’t quite sure where to look. So she keeps her eyes down as she works, pretending to be completely immersed in the intricate fastenings of Lady Mary’s black dress. The younger woman huffs, evidently figuring out this delaying tactic, and turns in her seat as soon as she possibly can, fixing her with a penetrating gaze.

“Well?” she says.

Anna tries to keep her tone neutral as she picks Lady Mary’s nightgown up from the floor. “Well what?”

Lady Mary huffs again, folding her arms. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t act coy with me, Anna.”

Anna feels herself flush a telling shade of crimson, her fingers twisting nervously through the silk, anything to keep her occupied. She watches the slow smirk crawling across Lady Mary’s face and feels warmer than ever.

“Did everything go as planned?” Lady Mary presses, arching an eyebrow at her. Her meaning is unmistakeable, and Anna finds herself stumbling, unused to her mistress speaking so plainly about such matters.

“It did, milady,” she says, not wanting to say much more. Lady Mary, however, has other ideas.

“And the room was comfortable?”

Anna takes a deep breath, closing her eyes. She remembers the press of Mr. Bates’ body—her _husband’s_ body—against hers, pushing her down into the bed sheets, heating her. She remembers the foreign feel of the bed sheets against her naked skin, and the even stranger feel of a man’s able body. She remembers sinking into those sheets as far as she could go, the feel of Mr. Bates all around her, snaring her every sense.

“Yes, milady,” she says dutifully. “The room was very comfortable.”

Lady Mary sighs dramatically. “You’re not giving me much to work with here, are you, Anna?”

“I shouldn’t have thought that you’d be that interested, milady,” she says as lightly as she can, although she knows that saying such things is silly. Of _course_ her mistress is interested. She herself has been more than interested in the taboo subject of sex over the years. After her initial horror had worn off over Lady Mary’s behaviour all that time ago, she had found herself wondering just what it had been like, though her own imaginings had included Mr. Bates. And when Ethel had turned up with a baby by a man that she’d been having a dalliance with long enough to get her pregnant, it had roused her curiosity again. Ethel had clearly enjoyed it enough to do it more than once, so there had to be some great appeal about it. She had never quite dared ask about the intricate details of the act, but now she didn’t have to.

Because she has first-hand knowledge. And Lady Mary wants to know more.

She feels self-conscious and awkward, somehow. Last night had been nothing like that, but last night had been about just the two of them. A natural end to the years of desire that they’d had to subdue. There had been no one else but them in the room. Just John and Anna Bates, and the thrill of intimacy. But now, with Lady Mary’s eager eyes on her, she is reminded of the fact that they weren’t alone, not really.

“Of course I’m interested,” Lady Mary says now. Her eyebrows rise suggestively. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

_“Milady!”_ says Anna, shocked at her blunt questioning.

Lady Mary simply rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Anna, there’s no one else here. I’m not going to say anything to anyone. Can’t you tell me at least a little?”

It’s not just the fact that they’re talking about a subject that it usually ignored in society. It’s their social statuses too. Anna isn’t sure that she should be discussing such things with the daughter of an earl. It isn’t really her place to be enlightening her. But there is an eager look on the younger woman’s face, and she knows that she won’t be getting out of it without at least giving her a little information.

She remembers how it had felt to have Mr. Bates touching her body. His hands so gentle and reverent, exploring every single centimetre of her skin as though his very life depended upon it. She recalls the way that his mouth had followed suit, touching and tasting and making her ripple with coiled desire. Her voice had been high and needful. He had kissed her breasts. He had used his teeth, too, and that had felt wonderful. Just thinking about it makes her toes curl in her shoes.

“It was nice,” she offers reluctantly.

Lady Mary wrinkles her nose. “Nice?” She had clearly been expecting something more revealing than that.

“Yes, milady,” she says, straightening the sheets on the bed.

“Was it _very_ nice?”

The scarlet blush in Anna’s cheeks betrays her. Of course it had been _very_ nice. How could it have been anything else, when they had both desired it for so long? Mr. Bates had touched her in so many ways, pursuing every avenue of pleasuring her possible, touching every responsive spot on her body over and over again until she had been a sobbing, writhing mass of limbs beneath him. It had been more than very nice.

“Yes, I suppose it was, my lady.”

“Suppose? That doesn’t sound very confident.”

Oh, she is confident. Very confident indeed. But this grilling is awkward, and she can feel her ears burning.

“Well, either way, you’re a married woman now. Do you feel differently?”

Yes, she does. Strange and a little off-kilter, but in the most pleasant of ways. There is a soreness about her person, but it is a delicious one that she could never find uncomfortable. It is a reminder of the things that she has shared with her husband, her Mr. Bates, and that is the most wonderful feeling in the world.

“I do feel differently, yes. A good kind of different.”

“Then that’s something to be thankful for. I’m glad you took the room, Anna.”

“So am I, milady. So am I.”

There is silence for a moment, and Anna believes that the conversation is over. It can’t go any further, unless it careens completely into uncomfortable territory about the things that had been private between her and Mr. Bates. _John_. She needs to start getting used to calling him that. He has asked her to on countless occasions, after all. And what better time than now, when they are together properly in every sense of the word?

“I’m glad that you enjoyed it, too.”

Anna blushes profusely, almost dropping the hairbrush she is holding. Is she so obvious? Is it so plain on her face? The unbidden smile drops as she notices Lady Mary’s pensive expression. She looks powerfully sad. What has brought it on? Her mistress glances up and their eyes meet, and Anna knows. She’s thinking about Mr. Pamuk. And what happened. She’s remembering what _her_ first time was like, internally conjuring up Anna’s own experience to compare it to. Clearly, her own isn’t matching up. For a brief moment, Anna wonders what it was like. Had it hurt a lot? Had Mr. Pamuk tried to make her more comfortable? Or had he only been interested in himself? Unlike Mr. Bates—_John_—who had given her everything before thinking about his own needs.

She has a feeling that even if she and John hadn’t been married, if he’d taken her up on her offer of being his mistress, it would have been no less enjoyable. The cover of marriage simply makes it acceptable.

Soon, Lady Mary shakes her head, plastering a brave smile onto her face. “I think we’re all done here, Anna.”

“Yes, milady. Thank you.”

The younger woman evidently understands what she’s trying to thank her for, for she waves it away with the flick of her hand. “Honestly, Anna, it was nothing. And soon enough you’ll be settled down in a little home of your own.”

It’s something that she can’t wait for. Returning home to be alone at the end of a long day’s work. Forever sharing the same bed, just the two of them. A thousand things to discover together. The start of the rest of her life is here, and she can’t wait to grasp it in both hands. Dipping her head, she makes her excuses, glancing a final time over her shoulder to find Lady Mary peering into the mirror, checking that her reflection is impeccable.

Anna hopes that one day Lady Mary can find the same happiness with Mr. Matthew that she has found with John.


	10. When the War is Over

_ 10\. When the War is Over _

The curtains are parted just slightly. A shaft of moonlight filters in through the window, hitting the bed. Anna sighs sleepily, shifting her head more firmly across John’s broad, hairy chest. This is bliss. This is the most wonderful feeling she had ever experienced in her entire life. Her husband—her _free_ husband—is lying beside her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, drawing her close, his body weight warm and comforting. For the first time since reuniting, they have been granted the beautiful opportunity to make love, to learn each other’s bodies in the way that they have long been denied. Nothing can possibly ruin this moment now.

“Was that all right?” John’s voice cuts through the silence, though he is barely talking above a whisper himself. His breath ghosts her hair before she feels his lips, feather-light, caressing her. She sighs, snuggling closer.

“It was more than all right,” she murmurs quietly, fingers curling against his skin. “It was wonderful.”

She feels the smile against her hair, and then he shifts. She is forced to move with him as he rolls onto his side, his arms moving out to catch her around the waist, his eyes dark and loving upon her face.

“I love you,” he says, and her heart swells in her chest at the ardent tone of his voice. His fingertips are warm against her sticky sides, and she shivers at how perfect the feeling is. Her own hand comes up to cup his face.

“I love you too,” she murmurs, leaning towards him. “So much.”

Their lips meet then. The kiss is slow, open, deep. They have all the time in the world now to kiss as they choose, the depth of their love for each other spilling out in such an honest act. Anna will never grow tired of the feel of her naked skin against the cotton sheets, nor the electric tingles that spread through her body when it comes into contact with her husband’s equally unclothed form. They have fought so hard for this moment. They won’t let go again.

At one time, on the dark nights when her thoughts had fallen prey to the uncertainty and doubt, she had wondered if any of this was ever going to be possible. Sometimes, it had seemed so hopeless. So dark. They’d been fighting a battle where the odds were out of their favour right from the beginning. Vera had proven to be a strong enemy. Even with her elusive absence in the beginning, their win had looked grim. A sneak attack could have been evoked at any time, catching them off guard.

And, of course, it _had_ caught them off guard when she’d wriggled right into the heart of their battlements. She’d been the snake in the grass, the sniper, waiting for her chance to strike. The first battle had gone to her, with her malicious threats and her powerful hold over John. Anna had been left holding nothing but a broken heart.

But the first victory hadn’t been the end. John had fought back, escaping from his prison of war, making his way back to her side. How they had rejoiced in that. Their kisses had never tasted sweeter. She had never felt something as wonderful as his hand in hers, knowing that he was there and that he belonged to her. She had vowed never to take a moment between them for granted, cherishing each little sigh, each whispered word.

When Vera had reared her ugly head again, they had been caught unprepared a second time, but they had been determined to fight tooth and nail. It hadn’t mattered what tactics they had had to use to win. They had been resolved to emerge victorious, to stand united, and that was all that had mattered. They had managed to push her back into a corner. They’d been sure that their triumph was imminent.

But, as they should have predicted, Vera had not been ready to surrender. Instead, she had produced another weapon. A weapon that had almost overcome them.

They had retreated for a while, nursing their wounds, grappling for a new strategy. Talks of marriage, of how they could sit Vera’s death out until the time was right. Until the world could accept them. Their wedding night had not been the end; just a small victory in an endless war of misery and sacrifice. But the tenderness, the love, the unexplainable feelings of pleasure, had been rejuvenating. Anna remembers the way that she’d clung to John then, her fingernails digging into his shoulder blades, writhing and arching and _feeling_ as he’d set her alight. It had been beautiful, a respite from the endless battles. But it had been over too soon, with the enemy that they’d hoped too weak to fight back launching yet another surprise attack, almost dividing them for good. Anna remembers only too well the fear and the hurt that she’d felt over those long, endless weeks when she’d thought that John had given up on them and their future. Now, she shudders just at the thought of each day without hearing a word from him, of not having anything to cling on to.

“Anna?” John’s voice breaks through her thoughts. His hand glides smoothly up her side, grazing her breast, lingering against her cheek. She closes her eyes against his touch, bringing her own hand up to clutch at his fingers. This is real.

“It’s nothing,” she says, her voice scratchy.

“It _is_ nothing. They’ve made it out of the other side. Sometimes it had appeared hopeless, and sometimes she had grown tired and weak, but they’d pushed on and they’d _won_. Their war is over now. There will be no more casualties. No more pain and suffering. Just a world of peace.

“Are you sure?” he asks, sweeping his thumb against her cheekbone. She melts against him. This is what she’s always wanted.

“I’m sure,” she says softly, twining their fingers together. “I promise.”

“Then I’ll have to believe you,” he says, and she smiles when he brings their joined hands between them, resting them between their hearts. She can feel his pulse in his fingertips, thrumming against her knuckles. Releasing a contented breath she snuggles closer, moving to rest her head against his shoulder and wrapping her arm around his waist, anchoring herself to him. He is her pillar of strength just as much as she is his, and the knowledge that when they are together they are unbeatable sends pride coursing through her veins.

They will spend the rest of their lives together. They will raise a couple of children, shower them with love and affection, never have to look over their shoulders again at the murky shadows of the past.

The war is over.


	11. First Kiss

_ 11\. First Kiss _

It’s cold in the courtyard. Anna shivers, rubbing her arms, but she isn’t ready to move just yet. The back door is closed, so she can’t hear the merry sounds of the piano from inside, though she knows that William will be playing it. Usually, nothing gives her more pleasure than sitting at the table, tapping her feet in time to the music, feeling Mr. Bates’ presence at her side. But she can’t be inside tonight. She isn’t in the mood for frivolities, not when her own mood is so low.

Mr. Bates might be leaving, and he _still _won’t admit whatever the truth of the matter is to anyone. She doesn’t understand him, nor does she pretend to. Why does he seem to think that he needs to be punished? Why won’t he make a stand and _fight_? He is the last person that she wants to see leaving the house. How will her heart survive it?

_Try not to miss me. It’ll be good practice._

What silly, _silly _words. Doesn’t he understand that it’s too late for her now, that her heart won’t listen to such things? He makes it sound so easy, as if he heart’s desires can be switched off at a whim. But he more than anyone ought to understand the complications of the heart and the mind.

She yearns and aches for him so much that it almost hurts her, almost has her on her knees, begging. She loves him and she loves their strong friendship, but sometimes it’s so hard for her not to break, even if she does know that deep down he feels the same way about her. He’d almost kissed her that dark night in the courtyard. They’d held hands and she’d been so close to him that she’d felt his breath on her mouth. But ever since that day, their relationship has been stagnated. Unmoving. And she knows that he’ll never put himself in that position again. It’s so hard, sitting by his side and being just his friend, knowing that when their hands brush, they will never touch completely, that their hearts might be tied together with string, but they will never be pulled closer. They are friends, and that’s all they are.

Mrs. Bates, whoever she is, is the luckiest woman in the world. Anna feels a surge of hatred—surprising—and an even stronger surge of exquisite agony—not surprising at all. Just the thought of the other woman is enough to make Anna feel sick.

Which is ridiculous, because _she’s_ the other woman, guilty of putting her heart at stake for a married man who can never be anything more to her than a work colleague. Unbidden, tears well up in her eyes. For once she doesn’t try to stop them. She is alone. No one can see her.

It’s fitting, because that’s how she’ll always be. Alone. On the outskirts with her face pressed against the glass, never able to break down the barriers. No one could ever understand her despair.

She allows herself to sniffle, before swiping the back of her hand over her cheek, hunching over. Normally, she is strong. She doesn’t like her emotions showing. She has always prided herself on being practical and no-nonsense. But sometimes it’s so _hard_, going through the motions every single day, pretending that she feels nothing more than friendship for the man who sits beside her. It’s torture, and it drains her. She doesn’t like to be self-pitying, especially when she knows that there are some people in much worse situations than her, but sometimes she can’t help but be listless.

_Try not to miss me. It’ll be good practice._

It’s all he’d been willing to say, and it makes the tears fall faster, scalding her face. They’re not even the slightest comfort. They don’t offer the tiniest bit of hope. It’s all over.

“Anna?”

She stiffens when she hears his voice behind her. His tone is soft, concerned. She can’t turn around to face him.

“Anna, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she says, praying that her voice doesn’t give her away. “Go back inside, I’ll be along soon.”

She hears the tap of his cane. He’s coming closer. She bites at her lip and brushes her knuckles more roughly over her face.

“You’re crying,” he says, and he sounds stunned, broken.

“I’m not. It’s the wind making my eyes water.” Desperately, she tries to will herself into sounding strong, into _being_ strong. He can’t know the truth.

The tap of the cane echoes too loud in the deserted courtyard as he moves ever closer to her. Before long, she feels his body heat beside her, though they aren’t touching. Never touching. She keeps her gaze trained firmly ahead.

“May I sit down?” he says softly.

She shrugs. As if she can even consider saying no. He waits for a few more heartbeats, before slowly lowering himself down beside her. The wind blows through the space between them. It makes her feel so cold. Mr. Bates leans his cane to one side, not turning to face her. Together, they sit in silence, listening to the sounds from inside; he’s left the door open. Now she can hear the merriment. It tugs at her heart strings.

“You should go back inside,” she says. “It’s cold out here.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage.”

More silence. She feels as if she could drown in it.

“I’m sorry,” he says at last. Surprised, she whips her head around to stare at him. Her breath catches in her throat. He looks agonised.

“What?” she manages to croak.

His eyes are stormy. “It’s my fault, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not,” she says softly. Even now, she has to defend him.

He shakes his head. There is an exquisite look of self-loathing on his face. “It is. Anna, you know if there’s anything I can do…”

“There is.” She can’t stop herself from saying the words. They spill from her lips like wine. Or poison.

Mr. Bates winces, shaking his head sharply. “Don’t. You know I can’t.”

“You _won’t_.”

He sets his mouth in a hard, firm line. But he doesn’t deny it. Anna twists her hands desperately in her lap and falls silent again, disheartened by his refusal to say anything. She wouldn’t change him for the world, not her Mr. Bates, but how she wishes that their circumstances could be different.

_He’s married_.

Anna knows nothing about the elusive Mrs. Bates. She fears that if she asks for more details, she’ll crumble and fall apart completely. She doesn’t want to know about the woman who keeps her from her happiness. To hear about those kinds of things—the colour of her hair, the texture of her voice, the paleness of her skin—makes it all too real. Makes her more than a ghost who can’t touch them.

The silence stretches on and on. It never used to be like this. And it isn’t always like this, either. But there are times when the awkwardness grows between them, and despite her best efforts there is nothing that she can do to stop it. He knows that she loves him, and she thinks that he loves her, but it can never be more than a storm cloud that hangs in the space over them, threatening to suffocate them both.

“Here,” he says at length, and he fishes a handkerchief out of one of his inside pockets. Anna takes it wordlessly, bringing it up to her nose. It’s warm and it smells like him. Tears threaten anew.

“Thank you,” she manages to choke, moving to dab at her eyes. When she’s done, she holds it out for him to take back.

“Keep it,” he says softly. “I’ve got plenty more.”

A souvenir. It reminds her of the tokens that lovers exchange. Her mouth twists, but she thanks him again. They both know that she’s thanking him for allowing her to keep a small part of him with her. It might be the most that they can ever achieve.

“London should be quite the adventure for you,” he comments quietly when she’s tucked it out of sight.

She nods her head, saying nothing. The rapport between them is one of her most treasured things about their relationship. She worries about him and he worries about her, but they don’t pressure each other into talking. Instead, they wait patiently for the preoccupied to confess what’s on their mind, and offer comfort then. Mr. Bates is always more guarded when it comes to making himself vulnerable in front of her, but she has broken through his defences on enough occasions for her to feel that he trusts her utterly.

For once, however, she feels as if she understands what it’s like to keep things to herself. Under normal circumstances, she would have turned to him for comfort. Now, with the newly complicated layer of feelings, she doesn’t dare to. How can she burden him with her agonies over her love when there is nothing he can do about it? It would only make things more awkward, and it’s just as unfair to him. So despite the conversation, she throws herself into discussing something that isn’t her melancholy.

“I’m not quite sure what to do with all of the free time,” she admits. “Besides visiting Mrs. Patmore, I’ll be able to do whatever I like.”

“Well, there are plenty of places to visit in London,” he says, trying to inject a note of lightness into his tone. “Perhaps you can visit the King. Or if he’s unavailable, Trafalgar Square is always nice at this time of year.”

“Providing the weather stays dry, of course.”

He cracks a smile. “Of course. Well, it’ll just be nice for you to have a break from work. I’d say that you’ve earned it. Just think, a few lie-ins. No wonder Miss O’Brien is so jealous.”

Anna manages a weak chuckle. “She’s welcome to go. I’d much rather stay here.”

_With you. _The words hang in the air between them, unspoken, heavy. Mr. Bates shifts. The crate he’s sitting on creaks loudly, piercing the uncomfortable atmosphere. She knows that he’d prefer it if she didn’t say such things, but sometimes, she can’t help herself. Ever since her confession of love, it’s been harder to keep herself in check. Ever since the night when they had almost kissed, it has been almost impossible.

She remembers that now, of the way that his fingers had gently, delicately held hers, rubbing against them softly. They’d been slightly calloused, but completely perfect. She wonders what he’d do if she reached between them and grasped his now.

It can’t happen. Her heart’s aching begins anew, and suddenly it’s too much. It’s too much to sit there beside him and play at being friends when she knows that what they share should run so much deeper than that. On other nights, she can handle it. But not tonight, when her emotions are scattered at the mercy of the wind and her thoughts are so melancholy. She needs time to recover from her low mood, to recharge enough to face more endless days of the same pretences.

“I think I’ll head back inside now,” she says. “It’ll be an early start for me. I should get some sleep. Goodnight, Mr. Bates.”

“Goodnight, Anna,” he echoes.

She stands to leave, moving past him, her heels clicking against the flagstones. She feels his eyes watching her every move, tracing each step that she takes away from him, and it takes all of her self-restraint not to turn back around. And do what? She isn’t sure. Something between flinging herself into his arms, begging him to end this torture and simply giving him a measured look. She daren’t turn around, take one last long look at him. The broad shoulders. The half-smile. The crinkles around his eyes. The fleeting glance she’d taken earlier will have to be enough to fill her for a whole week.

“Anna?”

She’s not strong enough to resist; the sound of his voice makes her turn at once, heart pounding in fear and eagerness.

“Yes, Mr. Bates?” she asks.

He stares at her for a few moments without saying anything, obviously at war with himself, then rises to his feet. She feels a thrill bolt through her body as he slowly starts moving towards her. The sound of his cane is somehow soothing.

“There was something you said earlier,” he says.

“What?” she frowns. Of course there had been something she’d said earlier; she’s said lots of things today.

“Something important.”

“Oh?”

He nods. There is a certain dark, delicious, nervous energy about him. It makes her feel nervous too. And she has a feeling that she knows where this is going.

At least, she hopes she does.

“What was that, then?” she prompts, and watches as the lump in his throat bobs. His hand grips his cane tight, and he stops in front of her. His eyes dart over her face, as if he isn’t sure where to look.

“This morning, you asked if I’d miss you.”

“So I did,” she breathes, aware that the space between them is shrinking. She moistens her lips, an unconscious gesture, and watches as his brown eyes darken further. His left arm rises to touch her elbow tentatively. Warmth explodes in that spot, shooting out in every direction. He’s looming over her now, but it isn’t the slightest bit threatening. She wants him even closer, wants to hook her arms around his neck and never let him go.

“And I realise now that I never gave you a proper answer.”

“No, you didn’t.” Her eyes half-lid as she gazes up at him. Her own hand comes up to rest in the crook of the arm holding her elbow. It’s daring, and she loves it.

“I need to rectify that.” His voice has gone husky, and it sends shivers careening through her whole body.

And then he’s leaning closer. It seems to be happening in slow motion, his head bending down, his grip on her elbow tightening. Anna has time to realise a whole host of wondrous things: that he smells beautifully of shaving cream and his lordship’s aftershave; that there are a million different specks of colour in his dark eyes; that there is just the tiniest hint of stubble beginning to grow back on his chin, so fine that if she wasn’t standing so close to him she wouldn’t be able to see it at all.

He’s so close now that he can kiss her, and she judders at the realisation that that’s what he’s intending, that she won’t have to wait any longer to know what his lips feel like over hers, to understand what he tastes like. That knowledge is finally going to be _hers_, whether it’s right or not in the eyes of the law and God. Her eyes slide closed in anticipation. She wants to concentrate on the feelings this time. Her lips part, inviting him to touch her, to taste her. She’s eager to learn him the same way. She feels his breath on her face—

His lips press against her temple. Her eyes fly open at once, and she feels a stab of disappointment and an even larger pang of hurt. He hadn’t been intending to kiss her at all. She’d been stupidly mistaken. She wants to pull away from him and bid a stiff goodnight, running to tend to her wounded ego, but his lips are seemingly too much to resist even if it’s not in the way that she wants. She can’t pull away from the warmth of his mouth.

Because, despite everything, they’re warm, tender. _Loving_. He’s kissing her temple so softly that she’d melt if he wasn’t holding her. And it’s not what she wants. But it leaves things in no doubt.

Eventually, after what could have been several seconds or several lifetimes, Mr. Bates pulls away from her. His lips tug feebly into the shadow of a contented smile.

“There,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Does that answer your question?”

She nods. She can do nothing else. The breath has left her body and she doesn’t remember how to formulate words. Her skin tingles where he’d touched her.

“I should be getting back inside. The others will be wondering where I am.”

She nods dumbly again, and he finally steps away from her, dropping his arm back to his side. She feels the cold seep back into her bones immediately, and he moves around her, continuing back to the warmth of the servants’ quarters. She’s rooted to the spot, but suddenly she finds her voice.

“Mr. Bates,” she calls weakly. “Thank you.”

He half-turns in her direction to offer her a look of understanding, then slowly carries on. Once he is out of sight, Anna allows her hand to drift up to touch the spot where his lips had been just moments before. A smile drifts across her face. It’s small, a shadow of her usual grin. But she feels lighter than she has done all day. She feels as if she could skip, fly, do anything. Because it hadn’t been perfect, and it hadn’t been a declaration of love. But it had been _enough_.

Enough to give her hope in the dark.

Anna’s determination returns as she begins to follow him indoors. Sometime in the next week, she’ll find out the truth of Mr. Bates’ past. She’ll find out what he’s not saying, and she’ll make sure that he stays right where he is. Because a lifetime of working by his side as nothing more than a friend is torturous, but a lifetime of never seeing him again is unbearable.

And tonight has proven that perhaps there _can_ be changes in the future.

She can live in hope.


	12. Funeral

_ 12\. Funeral _

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

The words ring out loud and clear, cutting through the silence like sharp glass. Even the wind chooses not to blow, allowing the words to hit all the harder.

They all stand in a circle around William’s grave. They’re all there, from the Dowager Countess to the one remaining hall boy. Daisy and Mr. Mason stand together by William’s headstone. Mr. Mason isn’t trying to contain his tears, laying his only son to rest. Daisy’s eyes are red and puffy, though John knows that she’s mourning the loss of a friend rather than a lover. The rest of the servants—the ones who’d known William the best—are also struggling to keep their composure; John spies Mrs. Hughes fumbling desperately for a handkerchief. He himself is biting hard at the inside of his mouth in order to stop his face from crumpling. War is cruel.

Anna stands by his side, but she is a respectable distance away. The tears flow freely down her face, but she is silent, clearly not wishing to break the stillness of the service. He wishes that he could reach out and pull her against him, let her bury her head in his jacket and sob, protecting her from any more of the world’s ugliness. But they are out in the open, and he can’t. So instead he tightens his grip on his cane and lets his gaze flicker over her, wishing that everything could be different.

When the funeral is over, the crowds begin to disperse. Daisy and Mr. Mason move closer to the cross emblazoned with William’s name, Mr. Mason sinking to his knees and resting his hand gently on the unfeeling wood. John feels a lump in his throat and has to turn away. There are some moments that should always remain private.

His gaze immediately lands on Anna. She’s walking away slowly, each step looking as if it’s taking every ounce of energy that she has. Her head is down, her back is bowed. He knows that she’d seen William as a younger brother of sorts. She’d known him for much longer than he had, had worked alongside him every day. It’s only natural that she’s taking his passing so hard. Especially when he had been so young, and his death so senseless.

“Anna,” he says softly, not wishing to disturb that sickening peace. “Anna, wait.” He hurries after her as fast as his useless leg will allow, but Anna isn’t moving very fast. In a matter of moments he catches up with her, and his hand reaches out gently to close over her wrist. She flinches at the contact, and he drops his hand away at once.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, her voice thick with tears.

“Anna, I don’t understand,” he says, trying desperately to reign in his desire to touch her.

“I think I need to be alone at the moment,” she says. “It’s too much.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but before he can utter a single word she flees, leaving him alone.

\-- --

The rest of the day passes in a blur of tasks. The staff function as normal, but there is an added slowness to their movements. There is no laughter, there are no playful exchanges. Just the excruciating silence. They are permitted to wear black armbands for the week, as a mark of respect to one of their own, and Daisy is given the rest of the day to grieve, though she vehemently protests against this, claiming that it’s not what she wants.

“Of course it’s what you want,” says Mrs. Patmore. “Now go on, be off with you.” Her manner is pushy, but John knows that she means well.

Anna is as subdued as everyone else. She carries out her duties as impeccably as usual, but she is silent for the most part, sitting with her head bent low over her needlework in the afternoon, not touching a drop of the cup of tea that John brings to her, barely acknowledging his presence when he sits himself down beside her. He contemplates dropping his hand to her knee, as he has done on several occasions when they had been almost alone and he’d been feeling bold, but today he doesn’t quite dare. He’s afraid that she’ll turn away from his comfort once again, like she had in the churchyard. Instead, he muddles his way through his own mending, not wishing to disturb her. He knows that if she wants to talk, she will.

Dinner is much the same affair. No words are exchanged between anyone; instead, the air is rife with the horrible, metallic sounds of the cutlery against the plates. John squeezes his eyes shut tight, feeling sweat beading on his forehead. It reminds him all too much of the harrowing sounds of the bullets flying every which way in Africa. He wants to forget. He knows he never will.

Anna pushes her dinner listlessly round her plate with her fork, seemingly enamoured with seeing how many times a lone potato can be driven around the perimeter before dinner is announced as over. It’s a little maddening in its repetitiveness. He can’t stop following it out of the corner of his eye.

Not long after dinner, the bells begin to ring again.

“The family must be exhausted,” comments Mrs. Hughes, glancing up to see Lady Grantham’s bell tinkling. “Miss O’Brien, you’d better get going. In fact, I think it would be a good idea if everyone got an early night tonight. It’s been a draining day. Once you’ve finished your duties, I want you to all retire.”

John’s heart sinks a little; not only is he not tired, it means that he won’t be able to see if Anna wants to talk. She’ll take longer than anyone to finish, and it looks as though Mrs. Hughes is determined to stay where she is to make sure that there are no stragglers who try to worm their way around her order. He won’t be able to come back down.

“Anna,” he whispers, seeing that this is his only chance. It’s far from ideal, in the servants’ hall, where anyone could hear them if they chose to listen hard enough. “Anna, please tell me that you’re all right.”

Lady Mary’s bell rings, breaking the second’s awkward silence between them.

“I’d better get that,” she squeaks, and with a flick of her black dress, she is gone.

\-- --

John sits up in bed, head in his hands, fingers scrubbing through his hair. It’s late, past one in the morning. He’s been in bed since half past ten—blissfully early for anyone—but it makes no difference to him. He’s never slept well at the best of times, and the added strain of William’s funeral and Anna’s distance makes it even more difficult for him to close his mind down. He’s tried reading, straining his eyes in the low candlelight, but nothing is making it easier.

Groaning, he swings his legs out of bed. He needs a cup of tea. He hopes that it’ll be enough to soothe him into sleep. Even if it’s only for a snatched half an hour, it will be better than nothing. He knows that he’ll have to be quiet so that he doesn’t incur Mr. Carson’s wrath, but he can’t stay in the room for a moment longer.

Knowing that he can’t go traipsing around in the servants’ hall in just his pyjamas, he quickly throws on his trousers and his undershirt. Grabbing his cane, he moves quietly out of his room. The men’s corridor is silent and dark. He glances in the direction of the door that separates the sexes. There’s no movement there either. He imagines Anna tucked up in bed, the sheets cocooned around her. Is she sleeping, exhausted by the strains of the day? Or is she lying there, crying silently into the darkness, alone? How he wishes that he could sneak in to see her. But Mrs. Hughes has ears like a bat, and the chances of Jane not waking up are next to none. Plus, the door will be locked. Shaking his head wearily, he turns and makes his way down into the servants’ hall.

He moves quietly in the darkness, careful to navigate the objects in the hallway. Reaching the kitchen, he fumbles for the light switch. Light floods the room, and he blinks rapidly to disperse the spots that erupt in his vision. He puts the kettle on to boil, and then moves to fetch a cup.

It’s then when he hears a noise, and he freezes. It’s a gentle scuffling sound, and it’s coming from the hallway. Carefully, he moves towards the door again. It’s too late to remain undetected—the light is a giveaway—but depending on who it is, he could be in trouble. He peers through.

There’s someone in the hallway, carefully closing the back door. There’s the jingle of the keys. And a flash of blonde hair.

“Anna?”

She jumps, whirling round with wide eyes. Clearly she’d been so preoccupied that she hadn’t even noticed the light. She looks guilty at being caught out of bed, but relaxes just slightly when she realises that it’s only John who has come across her.

“What on earth are you doing?” he says, abandoning his post by the door and moving into the hallway. Too late he realises that she’s wearing nothing but a thin nightgown, her shawl around her shoulders. His breath catches in his throat at how beautiful she is.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she says softly, stepping forward.

“So you went outside? _Alone_?” John frowns. He knows that his Anna is strong, but he doesn’t like the idea of her being alone in the night, when anything could happen.

She manages to roll her eyes. “I was just in the courtyard. I was barely out there fifteen minutes. I just needed some air.”

“Where on earth did you get the keys from? Mr. Carson keeps them with him. How—”

“He left them in his pantry. He must have forgotten with…with everything that’s happened.”

Anna stands in front of her now, and his eyes search her face. He’s somewhat surprised that she’d dared to go into the butler’s pantry, but he knows that there’s no point in bringing it up. He doesn’t want her to think that he’s chastising her. She’s already been distant enough. Instead, he reaches out a hand to caress her cheek. He’s relieved when she closes her eyes and turns into his touch.

“Do you want a cup of tea?” he asks. “That’s what I was going to make before.”

She quirks her lips feebly. “That would be nice. Thank you.”

“Why don’t you go and sit in the servants’ hall? I’ll bring your tea through in a minute.”

She nods her head before moving past him. John watches her leave until she’s out of sight, then returns to the kitchen. He can hear her scraping chairs about in the silence, and he cringes slightly at how loud the sound is, but he doubts that anyone will be disturbed by it; everyone will be sound asleep by now. When the tea is boiled, he places the two cups on a tray and ferrets round for a plate of biscuits. He remembers seeing Mrs. Patmore putting them away. She won’t notice if a couple are missing—and if she does, well, there’s always Thomas to take the blame. Biscuits have always helped to cheer Anna up a little, and they’re chocolate ones, made on the little rations that they’re allowed, her favourite. Hooking his cane over his arm, he picks up the tray and makes his way slowly back to the servants’ hall, gritting his teeth in concentration.

Anna is sitting in her usual seat at the servants’ hall table, her chin propped listlessly on her hand. John can see that her eyes are still red and puffy. Clearly she’s been crying again. She looks at him when he enters, then rises at once.

“Let me help you,” she says. Her voice is oddly stuffy.

He shakes his head. “No, stay there. I can manage.”

She sinks back into her seat at his words. He knows that she doesn’t want to hurt his pride by still insisting on helping. He puts the tray down on the table when he’s reached her, then moves around her to take his normal seat too. Anna pulls her cup towards her.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he warns her, but she doesn’t seem to pay attention, raising it to her lips and taking a long sip. That powerful sadness is in the lines of her face again, and he longs to pull her into his arms, to press her against him. But he knows that he needs to tread delicately, so instead he reaches out a tentative hand. His fingers brush hers just slightly. She starts a little, but she doesn’t pull away. It fills him with relief. Carefully, he slides his fingers through hers, linking them together securely. She holds onto him just as tightly. Silence reigns for a few more minutes before Anna eventually breaks it.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I know I’ve been acting strange today. I just needed a little time on my own to gather my thoughts.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” John is quick to defend her. “It’s been a stressful day for everyone. William was a wonderful lad, and it’s only natural that everyone is grieving for him. And you knew him better than a lot of people. Of course you’re going to be sad.”

“He was like a younger brother to me,” she admits. “So innocent and naïve. He didn’t deserve to die out there.”

“No one deserves to die out there,” says John, and his tone is a little bitter. “War never makes things better.”

“I’m sorry,” Anna says, her eyes wide. “I forgot about…about that.”

“Stop apologising,” he tells her gently. “You need never apologise to me. Believe me, it’s a time that I wish I could forget too.”

They stop talking for a while then, simply sitting there with their tea, their joined hands never loosening. John watches Anna’s face, trying to gauge the depth of her melancholy. He wishes that he could help her.

“Do you think me selfish?” she asks suddenly.

John is taken aback by the question. “What?”

She sighs heavily, and he can see fresh tears welling up in her eyes. “Well, I mean, I’m sitting here…but do I really have the right to? William’s poor dad has been left alone with no one, Daisy’s lost a good friend…do I really have the right to be so upset when others have lost husbands and brothers and sweethearts?”

“Of course you have the right,” John says quickly. “Don’t be silly. You knew William just as well as anyone else. And he might not be your blood relative, but he’s grown up in this house. That’s almost the same as family.”

She sniffs. “Perhaps you’re right.”

He slides his thumb along the back of her hand in a soothing circle. “This is tough for all of us to bear. William was a good lad, better than most. It’s cruel that he had to be taken when he had his whole life ahead of him.”

“War leaves no one untouched,” Anna says softly. He remembers her saying something similar just days earlier, when they’d first heard the news of Mr. Matthew and William’s injuries.

“We just have to find a way to bear it somehow,” he says. “It’ll take time, but eventually we will.”

“I’m glad that you’re not out there,” she murmurs, scraping her chair closer to him. He catches a whiff of lavender, and loses the ability to think coherently.

“Well, the chances of me ever being needed out there were none, thanks to the way that things turned out,” he says, opening his spare arm as she nuzzles against him.

“Don’t make light of it,” she says.

“I’m not making light of it. It’s true. I was disgraced when I left the army, and injured to boot. Of no use to anyone.”

“But circumstances can change. If…if his lordship had gone and insisted that you went with him…”

“Anna,” he pleads as he hears her breath hitch. “It’s not happened, love, and it won’t.”

She buries her head against his heart, almost as if she is trying to burrow her way through his skin to it. “You promise?”

“Yes, I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” she says softly, breath hot against him. “Because I don’t know how I’d go on if anything ever happened to you. I love you.”

It’s disturbing to hear her talk like that, so listless and lifeless, but he doesn’t think that it’s best to oppose her when she’s so despondent. Telling her that she’d have life after him isn’t exactly the best way of cheering her up. Right now, she just needs comfort. So he pulls her against him more securely, rests his chin against her silken hair, and listens to the sound of her breathing. For the first time since the funeral, he feels her relax, wilting against him, her arm coming up to anchor herself to him, their other hands still clasped. In different circumstances, the feel of them being separated by nothing but flimsy pieces of cloth would have his heart racing, but now is not the time or the place. They’ve been through a terrible week, and now is about grieving.

“Thank you,” Anna says at length, pulling away from him slightly.

“What for?” he asks. He doesn’t think that he’s done anything to deserve her thanks.

“For being here,” she replies, snuggling closer. “For trying to make things better.”

He kisses her hair, lips lingering and muffling his words. “It’s nothing, Anna. It’s what I’m supposed to do.”

“Maybe, but not everyone would.”

Perhaps not every man would feel comfortable offering comfort to his partner, not wishing to get involved in a lady’s fair sensibilities. But John knows better than that. Anna is the strongest person he knows, and he loves her. He wants her to be happy for no other reason than that. If he can succeed in making her feel better, then he’s done something right in his life.

“Why don’t you try getting a little more sleep?” he prompts softly. “You must be exhausted, and we’ll be required to get up soon.”

Anna stifles a yawn. “I suppose I am tired.”

John remembers how draining grief can be. He’d experienced it himself in Africa. The burden of all that despair weighing on the mind until it just needs to shut down. He thinks that Anna has reached that point now. Gently easing her from the chair, he tucks them back under the table and takes her hand, intent on taking her back to the staircase leading to the women’s quarters before tidying away the evidence of their night-time meeting. Anna’s hand, cool in his own, feels perfect, and despite the circumstances, he relishes the chance to simply hold it without anyone judging them.

Anna mounts the first couple of stairs when she reaches them, so that the height discrepancy isn’t nearly as obvious, and then reaches out to touch his face with the hand that’s not in his.

“Goodnight,” she says, her fingers trailing down his cheek.

“Goodnight,” he echoes. “Try and get a little sleep.”

“I’ll try, I promise,” she whispers. Her eyes search his face. Then she leans forward and presses her mouth against his. It’s entirely chaste, the soft brushing of lips, and John brings his spare, trembling hand to cup her hipbone. She tastes of tea. Slowly, drawing out the parting as long as she can, she pulls away from him.

“Goodnight,” he says again. It’s the only thing he can think to say.

She giggles weakly, moving her hand through his dishevelled hair. He sighs at the feel of her fingers running through the locks. She sobers again.

“John, I’ve got a request.”

He smiles at hearing his first name issuing from her lips. She says it so rarely, confined by propriety and often forgetting out of habit when they are alone. It sounds perfect falling from her mouth. He longs for the day when she’ll be able to say it openly in the comfort of their own home.

“What is it?” he asks her.

She stumbles for a second, looking self-conscious. “You might think that it’s silly.”

“Never,” he reassures her firmly. “Never be worried about saying anything to me, Anna.”

She nods, seemingly drawing courage from his words. Clinging to his shoulders, she makes her request.

\-- --

They walk between the crosses in complete silence, holding hands for moral support. Anna clutches at a bouquet of flowers that she’d picked earlier that morning from the garden. Her eyes are wet, but she’s not crying just yet. John has to work just as hard to keep his own emotions in check.

At last, they come to a stop at their destination. Anna turns to look at John for encouragement, and he nods, his hand leaving hers to ghost over the small of her back while she bends down with her offering, resting the bunch reverently against the fresh marker. The words are stark, harshly cut. _William Mason_. A man too young and innocent to die.

“Downton’s not the same without you, William,” Anna says quietly, and John has to clear his throat of the hard lump that’s forming there. “Everyone misses you.”

No doubt they always will. A sweeter lad could never be found.

“The servants’ hall has lost its cheer now that you can’t play the piano for us anymore. I’ll always have happy memories of that.”

John closes his eyes, fighting to keep his composure. So will he. There had been so many happy evenings in the servants’ hall, with lively music and laughter. He can see the little frown of concentration on the young lad’s face now, but it will never be more than a flash of memory, a fleeting remembrance of the ghost boy.

Anna talks a little more. She doesn’t seem to feel awkward pouring out her innermost thoughts in front of him. For his part, John tries not to listen further. It only makes things harder.

“Rest in peace, William,” she says at last, and John turns his attention back to her. She’s ashen. There are tears now. Slowly, she stands. John takes her hand again, entwining their fingers tightly.

“I pray to God that this is the last war we see,” Anna says. Fresh tears roll down her cheeks.

John moves to circle her in his arms, propriety be damned. He kisses her face as best he can around her hat, then closes his eyes. Anna’s shoulders shake. He remembers William vividly, and the way that the younger man had looked up to him, asking him questions about the war and life in general. He remembers being asked about love and the senselessness of being drawn to people who didn’t feel the same, the younger lad’s eyes shining with agony and despair, as though the world had been collapsing in on him. And now William will never know a long, loving life surrounded by his wife and children.

Anna turns into him fully, her arms coming around him, obviously not the slightest bit bothered about what people will think if they stumble across them. John can’t care either, and holds her as close as he can, resting against her.

Together, they mourn the loss of a wonderful friend.


	13. Set in the Kitchen

_ 13\. Set in the Kitchen _

When John awakens suddenly, disorientated, he is surprised to find that Anna isn’t sleeping next to him. Rolling over with a groan, he reaches out blindly for the old clock on his bedside table, squinting through the darkness to read the time. A little after three thirty. Sighing, he struggles up into a sitting position, running a hand through his hair. He reaches out and gently touches the place where his wife had been. The sheets are still a little warm; she hasn’t been gone long. Sliding out of bed, he scrabbles for his discarded clothes, grabs his gown from the chair in the corner, and throws it on to combat the coolness of the early morning air. He doesn’t bother reaching for his cane, instead taking extra care as he navigates through the darkness. The stairs creak as he moves, a sound that he revels in despite the loudness, for it’s proof that this is their home now, theirs together. At the bottom of the stairs he pauses, intending to check the parlour, but light from the other end of the corridor catches his eye. She’s in the kitchen.

Anna had obviously heard him, for she turns as soon as he begins to push open the door, a weary smile upon her face. She’s sitting at the table nursing a cup of tea between cupped palms, a plate of biscuits at her side.

“Hungry?” he asks with a smirk, moving over the threshold to join her.

She pouts adorably, the little scowl furrowing her brows. “This is all your fault, John Bates.”

His grin widens, and he strolls towards the table, dragging his chair with him so he can sit directly beside her. “That’s rather unfair, my dear. After all, if I recall correctly, you were a very eager participant.”

She pouts again, though this time he can tell that she’s straining to stop from grinning, especially when he moves to rest his hand gently against the bulge at her front. Seven months of pregnancy have only made her more beautiful in his eyes. He’d often wondered if it was clichéd to say that pregnant woman glowed, but after seeing Anna these past months, he knows that a more fitting statement has never been coined. She truly glows with every passing moment. He can still remember the way that she’d looked the first time that the baby had kicked, her smile so pure that it had almost been blinding.

She may like to grouch and complain about the changes in her body every now and then, but John knows that she’s happier than ever now. A family is something that they’ve both been longing for, and now that they’ve been graced with the gift, they’re determined to enjoy every moment of it. Though, Anna jokes, she’s not overly keen on the night-time flushes and the elegant movement of a baby whale.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asks him now as he reaches out and takes her hand between both of his, his fingers finding her wedding band and jiggling it gently on her finger. “I’ve just brewed a pot.”

“To go along with the chocolate biscuits?” he teases her, lifting her hand to his mouth so that he can kiss it.

“Actually, I was trying to make it milky so that I might actually get some sleep,” she says, pretending to be irritated, but the act is dropped in the next moment when he pulls her face forward to plant his lips on hers. She’s beaming when he pulls away again, fingers moving to tuck stray strands of her hair behind her ear.

“I think I might have one,” he says. “But you stay sitting right where you are. I’ll get it.”

He kisses her again, then pushes himself to his feet with a little groan, moving about the kitchen to collect the things that he needs. He notices her out of the corner of his eye, propping herself up on her elbows, watching his every move. He pretends to ignore her, sugaring his tea and looking out into the garden for a few moments. It’s looking truly lovely now; Anna has planted various different flowers to give the place a cheery bit of colour, and John can’t help but smile to see her efforts spreading.

He jumps as his wife sidles up behind him, her large belly pressing into his back, warm and reassuring. Her arms wrap themselves around his waist. Her breath ruffles his ear as she stands on her tiptoes.

“What are you thinking about?” she murmurs, pressing her lips against his neck. He sighs contentedly, turning around to face her.

“What do you think I’m thinking about?” he says, arching his eyebrow at her as his own arms sweep around her hips, pulling her closer to him.

“Well, judging by your expression, I’d say that it was something nice,” she purrs, fingers playing with the hair that just pokes out the top of his undershirt.

“Oh, yes,” he growls. “_Very_ nice.”

She giggles as his hand slides down her side, but he sobers when he moves it to rest over her stomach, dipping his head slightly so that he can gaze into her eyes.

“Actually,” he says, “I was thinking about the baby.”

“Oh?” she replies, moving her own hand to rest over his. “Truthfully, so was I.”

“Great minds,” he murmured, guiding her towards the table once more. “So, what were you thinking?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “Just about what it’s going to be like when he or she arrives.”

“Perfect, I should imagine.” And he firmly believes it. How could it be any less when everything that they’ve ever hoped for will manifest itself as a tiny human being?

Anna sighs, lowering her voice further. “I just can’t stop thinking about what it’ll be like to actually hold our baby in my arms. A little, wriggling bundle.”

“These two months will fly by, I’m sure of it.”

“Maybe,” Anna pouts. “I’m not looking forward to giving birth. But the result…it’ll all be worth it, won’t it?”

“More than worth it,” he reassures her, pushing the plate of biscuits towards her. “Now, come on, eat up. I know for a fact that you like to sneak a few more than you let on.”

“John!” she whines, though her eyes are twinkling. Without any hesitation, she picks up another and nibbles at it, dropping crumbs all over the table. John reaches for his cup of tea, sipping it leisurely as he watches her demolish a further two biscuits before leaning back in her chair.

“If I start to feel sick now…” she grumbles under her breath, and John hides a smile behind the rim of his cup.

“Well, if you are sick, you’ll still be the most beautiful woman in the world,” he says, stealing one of the last remaining biscuits for himself.

“Charmer,” she grouses. “Honestly, there’s no wonder that I’m in this state when you say things like that.”

He smirks at her, even as his cheeks redden. “Always happy to be of service to you, ma’am.”

She rolls her eyes affectionately, snuggling up under his arm. He curls his hand protectively at her hip, and they let the silence linger for just a little longer.

“You know,” Anna says at last, “I think we should at least have a name ready for when the baby is born.”

“I thought you’d already decided the name if it’s a boy,” he says with a resigned furrow of his brows.

“Well, the girl’s name is still up for debate,” she declares, tightening her hold on him. “And I might even let you have a say in that one.”

“How generous,” he says, pretending to be miffed.

“It is, considering that I’m the one who has to go through hours of agonising labour,” she retorts with a sassy grin, stroking her palm against his side.

He chuckles, conceding defeat. “Very well. I’ll have a good think about suitable names. Although I don’t see why we can’t just call her Anna.”

“Very funny,” she huffs, digging in her fingernails. “Now, stop being so irritating and get back to bed.”

“As you wish,” he says, his gaze lingering over her, his hands wandering to her stomach.

She smacks him lightly. “Don’t push your luck. I meant to _sleep_. You have to get up for work in a couple of hours.”

“What’s a couple of hours’ sleep compared to being with you?” he growls, brushing his lips against the side of her neck. She shudders, tipping her head to the side just slightly, silent permission. He takes it eagerly, moving his head lower to her collarbone, one of his hands snaking towards her thighs—

There’s a short, sharp kick against his palm, and he jerks at once, surprised. Anna giggles loudly, moving to cover his on her stomach.

“The baby does not like your thinking, Mr. Bates,” she says, and bursts into peals of laughter again, lacing their fingers together. His seduction is over, but he can’t mind in the slightest. The look on Anna’s face and the feel of their baby moving beneath their joined hands in more than enough compensation. It constantly fascinates him, that the tiny little life wriggling beneath them is something that he’s had a hand in making, that he and Anna’s lovemaking has really and truly created something so perfect for everyone to see.

“Come on,” he says at last, around the lump in his throat. “Let’s go back to bed.”

“Why, Mr. Bates,” she purrs. “Are you going to ignore your child’s wishes?”

He chuckles a little. “Of course not. But I would quite like to hold their mother in my arms. Surely there can be no objections to that?”

Anna tilts her head to one side, looking as though she’s trying to decipher an ancient language.

“No,” she announces at last. “the baby doesn’t have any objections to that.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” he asks. He offers her his hand, and she heaves herself to her feet with a little less grace than normal. He moves their used pots over to the sink to be dealt with in the morning, while she extinguishes the oil lamps. Then they join hands again and leave the room together, intent on tumbling back into the warmth of their sheets.

As John wraps his arms around Anna’s bulging form, burying his nose in the sweet spot at the back of her neck, he knows that he couldn’t have asked for more—even if she does want to call the baby John if it’s a boy.


	14. Better Late Than Never

  1. _ Better Late Than Never_

The war has been raging on for months. The young men have signed up for the effort, and many have already been killed, leaving their mothers and their wives and their sweethearts behind. Every time that Anna goes down into the village, she sees gaunt, harried faces, women torn apart by the things going on over the channel. Her heart always goes out to them, and she feels guiltier than ever for thanking God that the man _she_ loves is unable to fill the duty.

They’d said that the war would be over by Christmas, but it’s already coming round to the spring months again; half a year has passed since the outbreak. And still Mr. Bates works and serves beside her. There had been a question mark over what his lordship would do at the beginning. Mr. Bates had confided in her that he wasn’t sure if his lordship would push for a post in France, or in London at the very least, but that had never materialised. Instead, for whatever reason, his lordship is still at Downton, sometimes moody and listless, but still overseeing the estate. And Anna can still breathe, because the love of her life is safe.

Not that it makes much of a difference, because _still _nothing in their situation has changed. They still work and laugh side by side, and in quiet instants, Anna feels his warm gaze on her. In those moments, she’s in no doubt that he loves her. He’s never said anything that could possibly confirm it, but she doesn’t need to hear the words to know.

Though it would be nice.

The restrained friendship is trying on her sometimes, but she knows that she’d rather have that than nothing at all. She supposes it’s pathetic that she can’t bear to think of life without him, but she’s never felt this way about anyone before. She knows that if it’s survived two years of soul-destroying rejections, then it will survive until the last breath leaves her body. She understands that he’s married. She understands his mentality. She just wishes that there was something that could show him that living and not loving openly will only hurt them both in the end.

And then, the fateful day arrives.

\-- --

For weeks, a dance of some sort has been in the process of being arranged by Lady Sybil to help raise funds for the young men who have gone off to fight for King and country. The event is to take place down in the village, and she is adamant that the family will all be attending, to show that they’re right behind the village, and to raise a few more funds. She’s also decided, as if the horror for the family wasn’t already enough, that they will each have to attend with a partner.

_“What?”_ Lady Mary had exploded that first night when Lady Sybil had announced it to her and Lady Edith in her room while she was dressing for dinner, “you must be mad! Pray tell, who am I supposed to go to this stupid dance with?”

Lady Sybil had shrugged. “I’m sure _I_ don’t know. Don’t worry, you won’t have to go with somebody from the village. I’ve asked the servants to escort us.”

“Oh, that makes is much better,” Lady Mary had said sullenly, rolling her eyes. “And how do you think Mama and Papa will find this news? And what about _Granny_?”

“Mama and Papa will be fine; they can go together. And I’m sure Granny will be appalled, but this is my event and that’s how it’s going to run,” Lady Sybil had said stubbornly. “And I fully expect you to meet my demands.”

“What do you think, Anna?” Lady Mary had asked with the curl of her lip, drawing her into the conversation as she was wont to do when she wanted to prove her younger siblings wrong.

“That’s not for me to say, milady,” she’d answered, fastening the intricate buttons on her dress. “But there’s only his lordship upstairs, so I’ll be going with one of the servants.”

“And do you have anyone in mind?”

“Not really, milady. I’ll just wait and see what happens.” But of course she had, and she’d thought of him then, all soft-eyed and smiling. She’d felt the heat rise in her cheeks just slightly, and had hoped that it hadn’t been too noticeable.

Evidently she’d gotten away with it, for Lady Mary had sniffed imperiously. “Well, if you want my advice, I’d stay away from the hall boys. One of them—I can’t remember which—smells funny.”

“Mary!” Lady Sybil had been quick to jump in. “Don’t be so horrid!”

The two of them had continued to bicker, Lady Edith staying wisely on the sidelines, and Anna had finished her duties in a daze at the thought of Mr. Bates asking her to the dance.

\-- --

When the staff briefing had been announced, the servants had been a mixture of terrified and indignant.

“Why should we be expected to accompany them?” Miss O’Brien had griped in a rare moment—ever since Lady Grantham’s miscarriage the year before, she has been much less prone to badmouth the family, instead turning her attentions on the servants. “Why should we have to act as bodyguards? It’s not as if the village is going to lynch them.”

The male servants had been more cautious, obviously waiting for the others to make a move first. No one had seemed to want to accompany a member of the house—whether because they were intimidated by the differences in social class or just by the ladies themselves, no one could really say. Only Mr. Branson had strolled around as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He’d asked Lady Sybil to attend with him, and she’d accepted.

Now, a few days before the ball, Anna sighs, putting down her mending. Mr. Bates still hasn’t made any move to ask her. She knows that he hasn’t a partner yet, and she knows that he isn’t likely to ask anyone else, but it’s a little frustrating that he doesn’t seem inclined to make the first move. Just because he can’t dance doesn’t mean that he can’t have someone accompany him. If that’s what he’s talked himself into believing, then it is a poor excuse. Surely it’s not going to be left up to her again? Not that she won’t take the chance if it is. If she has to be the one to ask him to get a result, then she will. If, in a couple of days, he still hasn’t asked her, then she’ll swallow her pride again and put herself forward.

“Anna?”

His voice makes her jump, and she almost jabs herself with her needle. He’s standing there in the doorway, filling it so beautifully. She’s drawn to the breadth of his shoulders and her pulse jumps in her neck.

“Yes, Mr. Bates? What is it?” she asks, hoping that the hoarseness of her voice doesn’t give her away. The hall is far from empty.

“I was wondering if I could have a quick word. It won’t take a moment.”

“Certainly.”

She stands, leaving her mending where it is. She feels Miss O’Brien’s calculating gaze on her, but she keeps her head high and marches out of the room as though she’s not shaking like a leaf inside. Could this be it? She’s dared to hope so many times, only to have those same hopes dashed, but she can’t stop herself. Mr. Bates leads her a little further down the corridor.

“It’s not the most private setting,” he begins, “but I know you’re busy and his lordship needs me, so we don’t have time to go to the courtyard.”

“That’s all right. What’s wrong?”

She notices for the first time that his hand is trembling a little on his cane. She brings her eyes back up to his, not wishing to embarrass him. He takes a deep breath, then smiles at her, the half-smile that has the crinkles just barely wrinkling around his eyes. It makes her heart skip a beat.

“Well, Miss Smith, I have an important question to ask you.”

Heat explodes in her veins. This is it. He’s actually going to do it. He’s going to ask her to the dance.

He’s leaning forward now, reaching out to take her hand. Her breath hitches as his warm fingers move over hers, so much bigger. He’s never done anything like this since the night that they’d almost kissed all those long months ago, and she’d certainly never expected him to be so bold in broad daylight in the servants’ quarters. Her skin tingles as though it’s being enveloped by a pleasant electrical current. His eyes are dark and earnest, his head dipped slightly towards hers. She licks her lips, desperate.

“Anna,” he begins. “Would you possibly consider going—”

“Mr. Bates!”

Mrs. Hughes’ thick Scottish brogue interrupts them, and inside Anna silently screams. She holds the housekeeper in very high regard, but her timing today couldn’t have been worse. She takes a deep breath as Mr. Bates turns around, frowning slightly, and watches as Mrs. Hughes hurries up to them, a little out of breath.

“Right, Mr. Bates,” she says without preamble, “I’m afraid that you’re going to have to escort me to the dance on Friday evening.”

There is shocked silence for a moment. Anna can only stare, nonplussed while Mr. Bates’ eyes widen.

“I’m sorry?” he croaks.

Mrs. Hughes sighs exasperatedly. “Mr. Carson has decided that he should squire old Lady Grantham, so I will need somebody to accompany me.”

“That’s not strictly necessary,” says Mr. Bates, obviously treading carefully. “There aren’t enough men left on the estate to go around as it is.”

Mrs. Hughes fixes him with one of her most disapproving stares, and Anna shrinks back a little too, even though it isn’t aimed at her.

“Mr. Bates, you are the only other man suitable on the estate for the task. Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you to dance.”

“But I was just asking—”

Anna’s heart leaps for a heady second, until she sees Mrs. Hughes’ face. Her glower could match the dowager’s herself. Mr. Bates snaps his mouth closed.

“It’s settled then,” says Mrs. Hughes. “Thank you, Mr. Bates.”

She walks away then, keys jangling at her hip. Mr. Bates stands stunned for a second longer before turning his agonised gaze back on her.

“Anna, I’m so sorry,” he says, sounding forlorn.

She wants to rage at the unfairness of it all, but she can’t bring herself to.

“Never mind,” she says, forcing a smile. “It’s not like we won’t see each other there. And it’s not like it would have meant anything. Just two friends going together, isn’t that right?”

There is something foreign in his face. His mouth twists as if he’d tasted something ash.

“You’re right, of course,” he says.

Anna’s own heart drops, but she maintains her smile.

“There you go, then,” she says. “You need to accompany Mrs. Hughes. And I’m sure that I’ll find someone to go with me.”

The notion doesn’t seem to sit very well with him, but he nods anyway and begins to move on with a heaviness about him that hadn’t been present before.

“His lordship will need me soon,” he says, as if he can’t bear to stand there any longer. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“You will,” she responds, and watches him disappear up the staircase. She’s at a complete loss now. She’d pinned all of her hopes on Mr. Bates asking her to the dance, and just as he’d been about to, Mrs. Hughes had ruined everything. Anna feels a stab of resentment towards the older woman. Why why _why_ had she ruined her one and only chance with the man that she loves? Was it really that important to her not to go alone, just because Mr. Carson had taken it upon himself to go with Old Lady Grantham?

“Ah, there you are, Anna!”

The voice behind her startles her. She’s surprised to see Mr. Molesley almost jogging towards her. His face is bright red, and his collar is sticking up at an odd angle.

“Can I help you, Mr. Molesley?” she asks, regarding him curiously.

He wheezes a little as he tries to catch his breath, then straightens up and offers her a smile.

“Actually, you can,” he says. “I was looking for you.”

Anna’s feeling of disquiet intensifies.

“Me?” she qualifies.

Now Mr. Molesley’s smile is nervous, and he wrings his hands together. “It’s about the dance. I thought that perhaps I might have to escort Mrs. Crawley, but Doctor Clarkson has asked her, and she accepted. So that’s left me free. I was wondering if perhaps you might like to accompany me.”

Anna can only stare, nonplussed. Mr. Molesley is asking her to the dance? _Mr. Molesley?_ It’s all too absurd for any words.

She thinks of Mr. Bates and his kind smile and his twinkling eyes. Her heart shivers in her chest. But it’s pointless to think like that, because she’s not going with him anyway. Her options are running out. She wouldn’t mind going alone—she isn’t apprehensive about what people would think—but Mr. Molesley looks so hopeful. Can she possibly say no?

“Well, what do you think?” he asks her.

She opens her mouth and answers.

\-- --

Mr. Bates looks disheartened all through dinner, sitting there quietly and letting the conversation pass by him completely. Miss O’Brien shoots him disdainful looks, but he doesn’t pay the slightest bit of attention to her, and nobody else seems to notice. Anna wishes that she could drop her hand below the line of the table and squeeze his reassuringly, but she daren’t. So instead she keeps her own gaze fixed on her plate.

The conversation invariably turns towards the dance. Mr. Carson inquires if anything has been done about Lady Mary or Lady Edith. The remaining male servants looked positively ill. Mr. Carson lectures them about the insult of delaying, ordering them to pull themselves together and do their duty. Anna privately thinks that if _she_ were a man, she’d be terrified at the prospect of asking one of the young women too.

Afterwards, most of the servants drift off to finish their remaining tasks for the night. Anna herself is no exception, rising to her feet to fetch her mending. Before she can get far, however, Mr. Bates’ voice stops her. It’s low enough for only her to hear, but it still has her shivering.

“Anna, I really am sorry.”

She pauses, making sure that everyone else is preoccupied before she answers. “Really, Mr. Bates. Stop apologising. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But now you’ll have to go alone.”

She chews at her lip, wondering how best to answer him. He obviously catches the flash of guilt in her eyes, because he furrows his brow, looking oddly vulnerable.

“…Won’t you?” he queries. It’s nearer to a beg than a question.

She takes a deep breath. She’s never lied to him before, and she won’t start now. In any case, there is little point; he’ll see for himself in a couple of days.

“Actually,” she says, “I’ve had an offer.”

She’s seen kicked puppies with a less woeful expression than the one on Mr. Bates’ face.

“I see,” he says, though she knows that he doesn’t see at all. “When was this?”

“Just after Mrs. Hughes interrupted us,” she mumbles, wringing her hands together. She shouldn’t feel so remorseful, but she can’t help it. After all, she hates to see him in any kind of pain. Love makes it hard to switch off.

“One of the hall boys?” he offers, another beg.

“Mr. Molesley,” she corrects contritely.

“Mr. Molesley?” Is she imagining it, or does a dark flicker pass over his face, like the shadow of a bird of prey?

“Yes, that’s right. I couldn’t very well say no to him when he asked.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” he mutters. She wonders what’s wrong with him; his expression is practically sullen now. She can’t resist asking him. She doubts that she’ll ever stop worrying about him.

“Mr. Bates, is something the matter?”

“Of course not,” he says, a little too quickly. She detects a bite of bitterness beneath his tone. It should make her shrink away, but it doesn’t. She could never shy away from him. Not ever.

“Are you sure? You seem a little out of sorts.”

At that moment, Lord Grantham’s bell rings. Mr. Bates leaps to his feet at once.

“I’ve got to answer that,” he says, ignoring her question completely, and without even one backwards glance, he limps away from the table.

\-- --

The next day passes quickly. Despite everything, there is a nervous kind of excitement enshrouding the whole house. There hasn’t been any kind of celebration since the beginning of the war, and people are starting to realise that they need to seize the opportunity to be happy while they can.

Even Anna begins to feel an uneasy quiver of excitement at the thought of being able to let her hair loose and dance the night away. It’s a wrench that she won’t be able to go with Mr. Bates, but she will still be able to see him, speak to him.

Mr. Bates doesn’t seem to be sharing her enthusiasm, but she doesn’t want to push him too much. Instead, she focuses her efforts on setting her dress out, making sure that everything is perfect for the following evening.

Perhaps she can impress Mr. Bates, even if they are not accompanying each other.

\-- --

The night arrives. The staff are released as soon as possible to ready themselves. Anna takes longer than anyone, having to see to all three girls before she can dress herself. She spends more time than she should primping herself in the mirror, making sure that her hair is curled just so, and that the dress she is wearing hangs properly in all the right places. She isn’t usually a vain woman; she doesn’t spend a quarter of the time preening like the Crawley girls do. But tonight is special. It’s the first time she’s been on a proper night out with men. She’d never crossed the line in her younger days, afraid of what Mrs. Hughes would say if she was ever caught, and then there had never been anyone to make an effort for any other time.

Not until now.

When she creeps somewhat shyly into the servants’ hall, she notices Mr. Molesley sitting at the table. He jumps up at once, stumbling slightly; she fights a smile at his sweet clumsiness.

“Anna,” he says, making his way over to her. “You look very nice.”

“Thank you, Mr. Molesley,” she says, moving to fix her hat. “Where is everyone?”

“Most people have already gone.”

“I’m sorry. I got caught up.”

“There’s no need to apologise. We’ll take a steady walk.”

“I thought we would have walked down as a group.” It would have been less awkward to. She likes Mr. Molesley, but she has never really conversed with him on a one-to-one level before.

Mr. Molesley’s enthusiasm flickers for a moment. “Why, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly. “Has Mrs. Hughes gone? I just needed a quick word with her.”

“Oh, I’m afraid she has. I saw her walking down with Mr. Bates about ten minutes ago.”

Anna’s heart sinks. She’s already missed him. “Never mind. I’ll see her when we get there.”

“Shall we, then?” he prompts with a smile. Anna nods. Mr. Molesley offers her his arm. She has little choice but to take it, not wishing to appear rude. Together, they step outside.

The air is fresh and welcoming, and Anna revels in it to cool down her face as they walk along. The lane is beautiful at this time of year, with the flowers blooming before her eyes, and Anna inhales the scent deeply, unable to stop her own smile from blossoming.

“Would you like one?” Mr. Molesley asks her, evidently noticing her expression. “I know how to cut them loose without killing them. My father taught me how.”

“No, that’s quite all right,” she says quickly.

“Are you sure? They’d suit you.”

She feels slightly uncomfortable. Why is he being so complimentary? “No, honestly, Mr. Molesley. Let’s catch up with the others.”

He wilts in front of her eyes, but he doesn’t say any more. She squeezes his arm in consolation, and he brightens. The rest of the journey is completed in peace, with the two of them exchanging pleasant conversation as they walk. She likes Mr. Molesley a lot; he is kind and quiet, the sort of man who could be a good friend. He seems to be enjoying her company just as much, following her every comment attentively. In no time at all, they are in front of the dance hall.

Anna’s breath snags as she catches sight of Mr. Bates standing around outside with Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore. At the sound of her approach, he turns towards her at once. The beginning of a smile is on his face—one with real crinkles—before it dies midway. Too late, she realises that she is still clutching Mr. Molesley’s arm. The look in his eyes is unfathomable, but he turns away.

Her stomach drops.

“Hello,” Mr. Molesley says brightly as they join the group.

“How are you?” says Mrs. Hughes kindly. “Looking forward to the evening?”

“Rather,” he says. “What about you, Mr. Bates?”

“It should be interesting,” he answers tightly, pretending to check his pocket watch.

“Will you be dancing?”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Mr. Molesley. I’ll have to watch from the sidelines.”

Mr. Molesley looks mortified. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think—”

“It’s of no consequence,” he says. “Now, Mrs. Hughes, shall we?”

“Thank you, Mr. Bates,” she says, and he gestures for her to walk in before him.

“Mr. Bates,” Anna calls. “Wait a moment!”

He doesn’t turn around, limping straight inside, leaving her standing alone with Mr. Molesley. An emptiness settles over her chest.

Why is he acting this way?

\-- --

Even the raucous dancing can’t really cheer her up.

She joins in, of course, dancing over and over with Mr. Molesley until she feels quite dizzy, only to be swept off her feet in the next moment by a young farmer on a neighbouring farm who is due to be shipped off to France within the week. He is lively and full of the excitement of war, declaring her a beautiful young lass and following her like a puppy afterwards, offering to sit with her should she feel tired. Mr. Molesley’s face falls when he hears him, stepping up as soon as she’s away from the floor.

“I thought we might have the next dance,” he says.

“I’d love to, Mr. Molesley. But could I sit the next couple out? My feet are throbbing somewhat rotten.”

“Of course,” he says hurriedly. “Let’s find a table.”

She manages to withhold her sigh of frustration. “Actually, I was going to sit with Mr. Bates for a few minutes. He hasn’t had any company since Mrs. Hughes got up to dance with Mr. Carson, and he looks as if he needs cheering up a little.”

“Well, do you want me to come too?” Mr. Molesley asks. “Perhaps he would like that.”

Anna doubts very much that he would. “Why don’t you sort me out another drink? I’ll come and find you in a few minutes.”

“I can do that,” offers the farmer.

Mr. Molesley looks horrified. “But she asked me!”

“I don’t mind…”

Anna slips away while they’re still squabbling, weaving her way through the crowds of dancing people. She spies Lady Sybil in the crowd, her face glowing a rosy red as she dances with Mr. Branson. She’s quite sure he’s sneaked a few more dances than should be proper. The other two Crawley girls are sitting at a table together looking sour; it’s the first time they’ve been united against anything in a good long time.

At last she reaches Mr. Bates’ table, a little out of breath. He’s sitting there with an untouched glass of water, arms folded across his chest. She can see that he’s making an effort to smile, but it’s just not working. He looks more like he’s in pain.

“Hello,” she greets him breathlessly, sinking into the chair next to him.

He jumps almost a foot into the air, swinging his gaze on her at once. “What are you doing here?”

She shrivels under his less than friendly greeting, and fiddles with the cuff of her dress. “I thought I’d take a break from dancing. Keep you company for a bit.”

“That’s kind of you,” he says in a voice that suggests he thinks it’s anything but. “But I don’t really need company.”

It throws her off, and for a moment she is speechless. He has never spoken to her like this before. He is always polite, always kind, always teetering on the edge of _loving_. Never like this. Who is this man?

It takes her time to try to think of some sort of comeback to that, with him sitting there and staring right ahead at Mrs. Hughes as she dances, and by the time that she has thought of something, they are interrupted by the clatter of glasses. Mr. Molesley sighs gratefully as he puts them down.

“Here you go,” he says. “Just like you asked.”

Anna’s heart sinks; Mr. Bates’ expression has darkened further. Oblivious, Mr. Molesley sinks down into a seat opposite them, and in the next moment they are joined by the young farmer, Mr. Harvey, who immediately starts vying for her attention.

“Do you feel up to dancing yet?” he asks eagerly. “It would be an honour to do it again.”

“She said I was next,” Mr. Molesley protests.

Mr. Bates shifts completely away from her. Her mind is blank. She can’t think properly when he is acting like this. The look on his face is one of such exquisite anguish, though he is masking it well. It’s his eyes that betray him.

“Oh, go on, Miss Smith, give me a dance first. I’m good at this one.” The young lad looks so fervent. Mr. Bates stands abruptly.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I need some fresh air. It’s rather hot in here. You stay here, have fun.” He doesn’t look at her, but she knows his words are directed at her anyway. Grabbing his cane, he limps towards the exit. Anna stares after him, teeth sinking into her lip. His back is stooped as if he’s carrying the world’s burdens with him. Automatically, she rises too. Two sets of eyes are on her at once.

“Anna?” asks Mr. Molesley. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to check on Mr. Bates,” she murmurs.

“What? He said he was just going out for some fresh air. He’s fine. Let’s dance,” says Mr. Harvey.

Anna shakes her head. “Later. This is something I need to do first. I’ll find you when I come back inside. Please don’t follow me.”

They both deflate, looking at her with hurt eyes, and she swallows hard, hating to cause pain to them too. But her heart is tugging at her, insisting that she go to Mr. Bates immediately, and she always has to listen to her heart, even when it isn’t right.

\-- --

The first thing she is aware of when she steps outside is the repugnant odour of smoke. Wrinkling her nose, she steps quietly around the corner of the dance hall, and comes face to face with Mr. Bates, who has his head tilted to the sky, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Mr. Bates?” she says, not wanting to sound accusing, “what are you doing?”

He jumps a little and turns to face her. She can see the guilt in his expression, but he still takes a couple of extra drags on his cigarette before dropping it to the floor.

“What is it, Anna?” he asks wearily. “I told you to stay inside.”

“And you should have known that I wasn’t going to listen to you.”

He doesn’t smile at her feeble teasing, and she quickly lapses back into silence, though not before stepping closer to him. He stiffens when her arm brushes his, but he doesn’t pull away from her. She takes it as a very good sign.

“What’s wrong?” she asks again softly. “Talk to me, please.”

For a moment, he stays silent. And then he wilts.

“Nothing should be wrong,” he says wretchedly. “Absolutely nothing should be. I’m being a stupid, selfish man. Go back inside, Anna. Please.”

She shakes her head vigorously. “No. I’m staying right here, beside you.”

Mr. Bates makes a choked sound, his gaze finding hers. The agony there is almost overwhelming. Instinctively, she reaches out a hand to touch him, but he shies away from her.

“Please,” he breathes. “Please don’t.”

“I don’t understand,” she says. “What’s happened?”

“I can’t talk about it,” he whispers, closing his eyes. “Go back inside. Mr. Molesley and that other young man are waiting for you.”

Her eyes widen at once. “This is what it’s about, isn’t it? Me coming with Mr. Molesley…and that farmer dancing with me.”

“Of course not,” he says quickly, but there is no conviction in his tone.

“It is,” she insists. “But I don’t understand. Why are you angry?”

“I’m not angry. That’s not it at all.”

“Then what?”

He clamps his mouth into a hard line. His jaw locks. It’s clear that he won’t say another word.

But it suddenly all makes sense. She can read it in the taut line of his jaw.

“You’re…you’re jealous,” she says softly.

His head snaps up at once. “What?” he says.

“You’re jealous,” she repeats, her voice stronger this time. She watches the way that his face turns ashen, and knows that it’s true. He stares at her and she tilts her chin defiantly, refusing to be the one to break the contact. Her heart has started to pound in her chest. Surely his jealousy can only mean one thing?

Mr. Bates drops his gaze first, lowering it to the floor.

“Forget everything,” he says. “I have no right to be jealous.”

“Stop it!” she explodes, and he starts at once, his eyes wide and surprised. She is surprised herself by her outburst, but she doesn’t back down even when she feels her face begin to burn. “Don’t you know how frustrating it is to hear you talk like that all the time? You have a right to be jealous!”

“I don’t!” he shoots back. “I am a married man with no prospects. You are a beautiful young woman who has quite rightly captured the attention of several men. I have no right to be jealous when they can offer you a life and I can offer you nothing.”

“Listen to yourself,” she snaps. “You talk about _your_ rights, but what about _my_ rights? Don’t I have the right to choose whether those men are suitable for me?”

“You know they’re suitable—”

“I don’t love them,” she says bluntly, and winces, a little guilty at how harsh she sounds. But she has to make him see. “You know why I don’t love them.”

“Anna, don’t—”

“I still love you,” she says. “You know I do. I’ve never stopped loving you, and I never will.”

He exhales heavily. “I wish you wouldn’t say those things.”

“Why? Because you don’t want to hear them? Something tells me that you’d be lying to the both of us if you carried on denying it.”

“I have nothing to offer you.”

“So you keep saying. Have you ever thought that perhaps I don’t need anything but to hear you say that you love me too?”

“Of course you’d want more. It’s natural that you would.”

“I want you, Mr. Bates, in whatever form that might be. I’ve always wanted you. And I think…I think you want me too. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so gloomy at the thought of me dancing with Mr. Molesley or Mr. Harvey.”

He sags. He looks as if his world is collapsing around him. “You are so lovely. You should have the pick of every man around.”

“I’ve already had my pick of the men. And I’ve picked you. I wish you’d stop making it so difficult for the both of us.”

“You seem to be under the impression that it’s not difficult.”

“It’s _not_ difficult. Not from where I’m standing. I love you. And you love me.”

His intake of breath is sharp, and she challenges herself to step closer. He doesn’t move, standing as though she has cast a spell over him, keeping him in place. She hopes it will last.

“Just say it, Mr. Bates. Even if you only ever say it once. We’ll both feel better for it, I promise.”

Tentatively, she reaches out, her fingers touching his. He flinches, but he doesn’t shake her off. She takes heart from it, moulding her fingers through his lax ones.

“I’ll never ask you to say it again,” she says. “Just say it once. Please. You owe it to me.”

He’s clearly at war with himself, his face contorted as though he is in physical pain. She steps closer, as close as she dare.

“Say it,” she breathes.

And he breaks. She sees it rush over his face like a tidal wave at sea, and it sweeps her away.

“I love you,” he says in a voice barely above a whisper, so quietly that she isn’t sure if she imagined it on the wind, but it wells in his eyes and she knows that it’s true.

It’s the most perfect thing that she’s ever heard. It’s the most _beautiful_ thing she’s ever heard. And she knows in that moment that despite her earlier assertion, she could never live with hearing it only once. She needs it in her life every day, a guiding beacon to light up her world. Without giving herself a moment to reflect on what she is doing, she steps even closer to him, grabbing hold of his arms, rising onto her tiptoes in a vain attempt to even the height difference between the both of them.

John’s eyes widen, and he tries to back from her, but it’s impossible, she makes sure of that. Instead she clings as tightly as she possibly can to him, keeping them in place, keeping her eyes on his face.

“I love you too,” she breathes. “So much.” Her palm moves to his face, cupping it.

“This is wrong,” he protests, bringing shaking fingers up to try to coax her hand away.

“This is the most right thing that’s ever happened,” she corrects him. “And even if you don’t want to admit it now, you know it’s true.”

“Anna, please—”

Before he can protest further and irritate her, she curls her fingers around his ear and pulls him down to her mouth. She doesn’t even give a second thought to her boldness, knowing that she’ll balk if she does. His lips meet hers for the very first time.

It’s the most wonderful sensation that she has ever experienced in her entire life. Mr. Bates’ mouth is warm and moist, softer than she’s ever imagined it in all of her most ardent dreams. He struggles against her for a moment, but she keeps her grip firm, refusing to let him go. Not now that she has him.

And he succumbs. Barely at first, just the merest brush of his lips against hers. But then he is kissing her openly, his cane falling to the floor with a clatter as his own hands, so large and protective, rise up to cup her face. It only serves to fan the flames in her belly, and she moves her mouth against his with more enthusiasm. A tiny voice in the back of her mind wonders if she’s being clumsy and not entirely pleasant to kiss, having only experienced it for herself a couple of times in her life, but Mr. Bates doesn’t seem to be finding it repulsive. So she throws those doubts away and focuses on him. On the heady natural scent that drifts into her nose as she inhales. On the way that his thumbs stroke maddeningly at either side of her chin. She slips her tongue out tentatively, swiping it against his bottom lip.

He makes a muffled groaning sound and opens up at once. And suddenly there are more endless possibilities to explore, a thousand new ways to kiss him.

He tastes of ash, the tang left behind by the cigarette he’d been smoking as she’d come upon him. She thinks that she should hate the taste, but somehow it’s different on him. His tongue slides under hers and she shudders, gripping him tighter. Heat is growing between them, delicious, all-consuming. She never wants this to end.

But of course it has to, and Mr. Bates slows the pace of their kissing, gently easing himself away from her. He breathes hard through his nose, his eyes squeezed tightly closed. She is almost afraid to look into his face and read the regret there, but she knows that she has to face it.

To her surprise, the self-loathing isn’t as overwhelming as she’d thought it would be. There is a trace of it, of course, lingering behind his eyes, but it’s muted.

In that moment, despite whatever comes next, she knows that she’s won.

“There,” she says breathlessly. “Was that too hard to admit?” She knows that she’s playing with fire by goading him in such a way, especially when he is prone to withdraw into himself, and she sees it wavering there for an instant. She holds her breath.

And lets it out in an exalted rush when he lowers his eyes to the floor and shuffles.

“It was hard,” he says.

“But not wrong,” she finishes for him.

“I can’t offer you anything.”

“You can offer me love. And that’s all I need. I can’t just be your friend. I want to know that you feel the same way about me. Tell me every now and then. And kiss me too.”

Mr. Bates opens his mouth like he’s going to protest, but then closes it again, evidently thinking better of whatever he’d been about to say. She knows it’s not the end, but perhaps they are protests for another day.

Instead, he leans forward, cautiously reaching out a hand to cup her face, as though he is afraid that she’s going to blister his skin. Her eyelids flutter as she sinks into the feeling of his hand on her face. His palm is vast, engulfing her almost entirely, and she feels another rush of fierce love for the man standing in front of her. He might not be perfect, but he is perfect to her.

“I love you, Anna Smith,” she hears him say, the words tinny, as though she is hearing them from a great distance. His eyes are dark on her face, holding steady as she opens hers to meet his gaze. She can scarcely believe that he’s bold enough to say it so soon after the first time. It’s more than her wildest dreams.

“I love you, John Bates.”

And it gets better by the second.

“You said I could kiss you too,” he almost whispers.

She tilts her head, offering herself to him. “You can. Any time you like.”

He nods, his eyes serious, before he bends his head lower. She tilts hers even further up, almost desperate to taste him again. She is greedy, Eve feasting on the apple in the Garden of Eden, but she can’t stop. Not now. Her hands clutch at the arms of his jacket, feeling the heat emanating from beneath her fingertips. He kisses her breathless, until she feels weightless in his arms, his tongue sweeping along her lower lip and forcing her to make a muffled sound of pleasure—

“Anna, are you ready to come back inside yet? You’ve been out here for quite a while…”

The voice is loud, shattering the tranquillity of the moment before trailing off into stunned silence. Anna and Mr. Bates spring apart at once, and she spins on her heel wide-eyed to see who has interrupted them.

Mr. Molesley stands before them, looking aghast. Hot horror burns her cheeks at once as she lurches several steps away from Mr. Bates’ side, suddenly very aware of the situation that they have been caught in.

“W-What’s going on?” he asks, and her faint hope that perhaps they’d moved apart quicker than he’d come upon them is dashed entirely.

A stupid part of her brain wants to say that they’re not doing anything, but she knows that it would be insulting to everyone involved—and if she did, Mr. Bates might see it as her way of doubting what they could have, that she’s _ashamed_ by the way that she feels about him when she is anything but. So she swallows hard around the lump in her throat and manages to find her voice.

Nothing comes out apart from a pitiful stutter.

Mr. Molesley’s eyes are still upon them both, burning with a sadness that is almost heart-wrenching. She feels guilty for a moment, for allowing him to bring her here tonight, for allowing him to believe that he might have a chance with her, when her heart will only ever beat for the valet beside her. And she is suddenly aware of the fact that she doesn’t know what to say, that she doesn’t know how to make any of this all right. How can she let him down gently when he has seen her kissing another man so enthusiastically? There is no way of doing it.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Molesley. This…it wasn’t planned.”

_Mr. Bates_. Anna swings around to face him at once, her mouth hanging open, her heart beating almost out of her chest. Just what is he trying to say? Is he…is he trying to take back all that he has admitted tonight? He keeps his gaze straight ahead. Tears burn behind her eyes. He can’t be doing this to her. He _can’t_.

But then his hand tentatively reaches out through the space between them, catching hold of her wrist gently and then sliding down, asking silent permission to link their fingers. She completes the action, pressing her palm against his.

“I don’t understand!” Mr. Molesley cries. “What do you mean, it wasn’t planned? What’s happened!?”

Mr. Bates steps in again before she can think of anything to say, his hand squeezing hers tight. “Mr. Molesley…I hold Anna in very high regard, and tonight…tonight I told her so.”

“High regard?” Mr. Molesley’s voice shakes. “And what exactly is that?”

Mr. Bates says nothing, holding his gaze steadily. Something seems to pass between them—almost understanding, though Anna isn’t sure what it really means. Mr. Molesley’s gaze flickers and falls to their joined hands.

“I see,” he stammers. “And that high regard, Anna, it’s reciprocated…?”

“It is,” she all but whispers.

“I see,” he says again. “Well, I’m very sorry for interrupting. I should go back inside.”

Abruptly, he turns on his heel and rushes away, and Anna feels another stab of guilt.

“I should go after him,” she says. “Make sure he’s all right. It must have been a shock for him, catching us kissing like that.”

Mr. Bates manages a small smile. “I expect it was.”

“I can’t help but feel that it’s partly my fault, that I might have led him on without meaning to. I need to apologise for that.”

“Of course. I’ll speak to him too, when I can.”

“Are you coming back inside too?”

“Soon,” he promises. “I’ll stay out here a little longer so it doesn’t seem too suspicious.”

Anna nods. “Very well. I’ll ask Mr. Molesley to keep quiet about this, just until it feels right to say otherwise. I’m sure he will. He’s a kind man. I hope one day he meets someone who is right for him.”

Because he’s just not the man she loves. It’s unspoken, but they both know she’s thinking it. Tentatively, she reaches out to touch him once more.

“And you promise that nothing will have changed from this when we go back inside?” she implores. “You’re not going to start pretending that it didn’t happen?”

For long seconds he stares at her, and then he smiles.

“Nothing will have changed,” he says. “I promise.”

She believes him, and leaves him with one last lingering look. As she goes to find Mr. Molesley, one thought drifts lazily over her mind:

The ball has helped more than the soldiers in France.


	15. Secrets and Lies

_ 15\. Secrets and Lies _

“So, Johnny, is Yorkshire really being good to you?”

John pauses in the middle of raising his cup to his lips. “It is, yes. Much better than London was. You’d like it there. More like the Irish countryside.”

“Oh, I’m afraid that nothing is like the Irish countryside. It’s all too English for my taste.”

He has to chuckle at that. His mother had crossed the English channel with his father in order to make a new life, and she still complains about its inferiority when compared with her homeland, even after all of these years.

“If I ever get some time off, I should bring you down to see it for the day. I think its charm wouldn’t be lost even on you, Mother.”

“Watch your tongue, Johnny,” she replies good-humouredly, before her wrinkled face wrinkles further. “But it’s more than that. Are the people treating you well?”

“You know I’ve served with Lord Grantham before. He was a good man in Africa, and he’s a good man now.”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean the others. Are they treating you well? They’re not looking down on you? Because I won’t tolerate prejudice when it comes to my boy…”

John suppresses a smile with great difficulty, knowing that it would only antagonise his mother further. He is in his forties and she still coddles him as though he is a child of five.

“They’re treating me just fine,” he reassures her, knowing that it is dangerous to do anything else. He won’t mention any of the trouble he has had with Thomas and Miss O’Brien. That has passed. At least for the moment. “They’re all very courteous.”

“Courteous?” she frowns. “That doesn’t sound very reassuring. Don’t you have any friends?”

“I’m not at school, Mother. Service can be a lonely life. Always too much work and too little social time.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t have to be like that,” she presses. “What about after dinner? You’ve not always got your head buried in a book, have you? That’s not going to win you any friends, son.”

“The butler and the housekeeper always make time to talk to me,” he says. “And I don’t have my head in a book then. Anyway, you needn’t worry. I do have one friend.”

“That Mr. Molesley chap? You wrote and said he was back in Downton too.”

“No, not him. A housemaid. Anna.”

“A housemaid?” Her eyebrows rise in a way he doesn’t quite like.

“It’s nothing like that,” he hastens to add, knowing exactly what conclusions she’s already drawn in her head. “Anna is just a very good friend. She’s much, much younger than I am. There’s nothing between us.”

“I’m sure,” she replies, but she doesn’t sound convinced.

“Truly, Mother. She’d want a nice chap her own age. And I’m aware of my past sins and my baggage. No one deserves to be caught up in that.”

There are a few moments of uncomfortable silence, in which she stares at him with that calculating gaze of hers, the one that always makes him feel as if time has shrank away, as if he is being judged for sneaking into old Mrs. Brampton’s garden and kicking her flowers.

“Son,” his mother sighs, “the heart rarely listens to the head.”

\-- --

Throughout the year, John sends his mother many letters. He knows that she worries about him, and he feels that it’s his duty to put her mind at rest. Her letters are filled with questions, wanting to know everything from the events taking place in the village to how heavy his duties are. He notices that over time her queries about Anna increase, and his heart flutters dangerously. What does she infer? There’s a kind of knowing to the tone of her correspondence that he doesn’t feel comfortable with. It’s as if she knows that he’s fallen in love with her. So desperately, so utterly.

Later, he begins to spot the change in his own letters. How his writing often drifts from mundane stories of the house to little accounts about him and Anna. Their trip into the village together, when she’d dropped her shopping all over the floor after a fat bird flapped in her face. Her baffling love of hoarding things that can be given a new life in other ways— something he knows his frugal mother appreciates.

He considers ripping those letters up, starting over, but whenever he tries to, he meets the same fate. Anna fills every part of his head, and he can’t escape her. He doesn’t want to.

In any case, his mother knows him better than anyone. She sees through him. She’ll know something is amiss. She always knows.

So he sends her the letters despite his reservations, and watches her own replies alter further. She asks more probing questions. She wants to know everything about the famous Miss Smith and the time they spend together.

Eventually, she writes him a letter that freezes his heart mid-pound.

_Find Vera,_ she writes simply. _Free yourself. And make yourself happy._

He glances out of the window, at the black sheet of rain marring his vision. He remembers earlier, the phantom feel of Anna’s lips against his own. He imagines that he knows what she tastes like now, even if their mouths had never met. She’d fled from him, ashamed. As she should.

He glances back down at his mother’s letter, shoulders sagging.

If only things were that simple.

\-- --

“But _why_ does your mother want to see me?” Anna twists her hands together miserably. Despite the fairly mild November, she shivers. John slips his arm around her as subtly as possible, drawing her closer. Contrary to him, Anna snuggles deep into his embrace, resting her head against his shoulder. So much for not drawing attention to themselves. John is cautious about letting the others know just yet about the shift in their relationship, still so new and tender, but it doesn’t seem to matter to Anna in the slightest.

_“I know you can’t court me properly, and I respect that,”_ she’d told him. _“But I will not hide away like what we’re doing is dirty and wrong.”_

He’d accepted her terms—he is taking so much from her, how can he not grant her that?—but in the present he still stiffens slightly, conscious of either Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes—or worse, Miss O’Brien—walking out to find them like this. He knows that their superiors need to be made aware of the changes soon but, just for a little longer, he wants it to remain their secret.

“My mother liked you,” he says at length. “Anyone who champions me in her eyes is an angel.”

“Yes, but why does she want me to come with you?” she presses. “Have you said anything to her? About the two of us?”

“Of course I haven’t. I’ve maintained that our relationship is purely platonic.”

“But she must know something!”

He takes a deep breath for a moment, wonders. “Well, I think she knows that I’m in love with you.”

“What? Are you meaning to tell me that you spoke with someone else about your feelings before you spoke to me?”

There is a fire in Anna’s voice that makes him smile. He turns his head, presses a kiss to her hairline to try to placate her. She is unmoved, her head now away from his body, blue eyes accusing as she stares into his face.

“I didn’t, I swear. But one day she wrote to me telling me to find Vera and get a divorce. It left no room for argument, and I was so tired of denying my feelings that I didn’t.”

“You still denied _me_.” Anna sounds surly now. He doesn’t want them to get into an argument over this, so he cups her face between his palms, smiling when he almost eclipses her entirely, and draws her closer so that their noses are mere centimetres apart. She melts a little at that, and he rubs the tip of his nose against the tip of hers, revelling in the victory of winning a smile from her.

“I’m not denying you now,” he says. “I love you, Miss Smith.”

Her hand wanders up his arm to his shoulders. She leans forward on the crate. “I love you too, Mr. Bates.”

Her mouth crushes softly against his, and he loses himself in her scent, her taste. He knows that kissing for long periods of time out here in the open is tempting fate, but he can’t help holding her close for longer, savouring every inch of her beneath his fingers.

When at last they part, all ire has wilted out of her.

“Will you come to London?” he breathes into her skin.

She nods against him. “Lady Mary is going in a few weeks. Arrange it for then and I’ll slip away with you.”

He takes a shuddering breath. With her words, the situation has become all the more real. And he won’t admit it to her because she’s on edge enough, but the thought of bringing her to see his mother, even just as friends, is enough to make his stomach curdle.

\-- --

They stand outside the little house together, close enough that their sides brush. John takes heart from that, draws strength from her closeness. It’s not like they are facing the lion’s pit together. Just his mother.

Although, in all reality, she _is_ as fearsome as any lioness.

He shakes his head and pushes that particular thought to the back of his mind, offering Anna a small grin. “Are you ready?”

She’s the colour of milk, decidedly paler than she ought to be. “I suppose so.”

He begins to lead her down the front path, speaks with a confidence he doesn’t really feel. “It’ll be all right, you know. She likes you.”

From the look on her face, his words haven’t alleviated her fears. But he can’t do any more about it now because they are right outside the door. Taking a deep breath, he raps smartly three times.

Mere moments later, the front door opens, and his mother stands there in front of him.

“Johnny,” she exclaims, pulling him down to her for a hug, and he is mildly embarrassed by both the affectionate nickname he should have grown out of when he became a man, and the enthusiastic welcome.

“Hello, Mother,” he says.

“You’ve lost weight, lad,” she accuses when she pulls away, patting his cheek. “Where’s my strapping man gone?”

His ears burn, and he chances a glance behind him to find Anna failing to contain an amused smirk. “Mother…”

“What?” she says. “It’s the truth, I tell ye. You were more than nine pounds when you entered this world, and a big brute just like your father.”

He’s stunned into horrified silence for a moment, before the tinkling sound of a giggle behind him makes him remember himself. Clearing his throat even as his cheeks stain red, he steps to the side to allow Anna to sidle up beside him.

“Mother, this is Anna Smith,” he says.

“I’m well aware of who she is, Johnny. We’ve met before. How do you do, Miss Smith?” She offers Anna her hand, who takes it.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Bates,” she replies. “And please, call me Anna.”

“Only if you call me Margaret.”

Anna glances up at him as though to seek permission, offering a tentative smile. “If you’re sure.”

“Of course I’m sure. It does me good to see that Johnny gets well taken care of when I’m not there. If he had it all his own way, he’d live a very solitary life. It sounds to me that you bring him out of that shell of his, daft beggar that he is. Now, come on in. I’ve got a pot of tea brewin’ on the stove.”

She bustles in, perhaps leaving them alone on purpose. Still blushing, John gestures for Anna to step before him. She does so, giggling a little.

“She’s certainly a force of nature, isn’t she?” she murmurs as she shrugs off her coat.

“She’s only just getting warmed up. Brace yourself. She’s not going to stop talking, I warn you.”

“I think _you_ should be more worried about that,” she teases him. “Nine pounds, eh? You were always destined to be a big man.”

He tries to supress the pleasant shivers that tickle his spine at the appreciative way that she runs her eyes over his form. God, if only they were already married. She might be an innocent, but he’s seen enough of life, and he is still a man; when she looks at him like that, his blood heats. He busies himself with removing his own coat to dispel his unholy thoughts. By the time he’s finished his mother is in the doorway again, and he is acutely reminded that they are not alone.

“Now, come along,” she says. “I’ve made some biscuits too.” She bustles back into the living room.

Casting him one last amused smile, Anna skips ahead. Shaking his head, John follows.

\-- --

They’re getting on better than he could have possibly imagined. Away from the formal constraints of their last meeting, Anna and his mother are enthusiastic in their bonding over the man in their lives, trading stories of his misfortunes, fussing and declaring him hopeless. He colours when Anna shares a particularly embarrassing story about the two of them getting caught out in the rain only a month ago, the storm taking them by complete surprise. John had almost slipped on the muddy ground, splattering mud up the front of his trousers. Thankfully, Anna had been on hand to steady him, but she had almost laughed herself silly at the right look on his face, and he had not been spared a royal rebuke about the standards of Downton from Mr. Carson when he arrived back. He had taken great pleasure in kissing her right there in the open, stopping her laughter mid-flow. Terribly clichéd, but Anna’s shining eyes afterwards had made up for his boyish humiliation. Anna doesn’t share the more intimate details of that afternoon, which he is eternally grateful for, and he doesn’t mind them laughing at his expense. Knowing that they are so at ease with each other is prize enough.

“I’ll just clear these plates away,” he offers when they’ve finished eating their sandwiches.

“I’ll help,” Anna is quick to offer, but his mother steps in.

“Nonsense, dear. You’re a guest in this house, and I won’t have any friend of Johnny’s working here. Besides, I wouldn’t imagine you get much time to simply relax and enjoy yourself. I’ll do it. I’ve a few pictures I think you’ll like. Be careful with them, photography wasn’t as easy back in the day. But they ought to bring a smile to your face all the same.”

“Mother!” he groans. “Anna does not need to see anything of the sort.”

“I’d love to,” she is quick to interrupt with a devilish smile sent his way. “I’ve always wondered what he looked like as a child.”

“Well, you won’t have to wonder anymore, dear. Have a look at the fireplace while we take these things into the kitchen. We’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Get the tray, Johnny.”

He rolls his eyes playfully behind her back. Anna stifles a giggle by pressing her palm over her mouth.

In the kitchen, his mother closes the door behind them, fixing him with a no-nonsense stare.

“She’s very nice, John,” she says. “I thought she was a good lass last time I met her, and this afternoon has only proven that. Nothing at all like Vera.”

“No,” he admits softly, “she’s not.”

“But the question remains…what are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly. “I’m married. We’re friends.”

She gives him a hard look. “Don’t act coy with me, Johnny. You’ve got hearts in your eyes, plain for anyone to see.”

“I think you’re seeing things that aren’t there,” he tells her. “You’re the one who brought up divorce in the first place, after all. I think it’s clouding your vision.”

“Don’t you play smart with me, son. I’m your mother. I know you better than anyone.”

“I brought her here because you wanted to see her again. She agreed because she likes you. There’s nothing more to it.”

“There’s plenty more to it. Those hearts are in her eyes too, whenever she looks your way. One look at her tells me everything I need to know.”

“And what could she possibly see in me that would inspire such passions?” he says heatedly.

“You tell me, son. You did the work. But I’ll tell you this: no woman on earth would go to such trouble for just a friend if she thought he was about to lose his job.”

“Anna is an honourable woman,” he argues. “I’ve told you a hundred times how much she hates injustice.”

“That may be the case. But I’d wager everything I own that there are some selfish reasons involved too. She didn’t want you to leave her alone, Johnny. She was desperate for the truth when she came here, and on more than a platonic basis.”

He huffs. “Leave it be now, Mother. We should be getting back to Anna. She’ll be wondering what’s taking us so long.”

“You get back to your Yorkshire lass. I’ll finish up in here and join you in a few minutes. That’s if I can trust you alone?”

“Of course you can,” he mutters sullenly.

“Then go and keep your guest entertained.”

Her tone brooks no argument, and he leaves the room somewhat chastened.

Anna looks up as soon as he enters, grinning widely.

“Oh, Mr. Bates,” she coos. “You were such a sweet little baby.”

He lets out a bark of gruff laughter. “You didn’t know me. I was a little terror.”

“I wish I could have known you,” she sighs. “I imagine I would have been just as infatuated with you even as a girl.”

The comment brings a frown to his face; it’s a little disconcerting to think that she would have only just been born when he was in his teens. He tries to dispel the notion by peering over her shoulder at the picture she’s staring at. He’s a grinning, toothless baby on it. It must have been the first.

“Your mother wasn’t wrong when she said you were a bonny lad,” Anna giggles.

“It runs through Bates men.” He doesn’t remember much about his father, but he had been a big man too, quick to lose his temper and lash out with his belt. John had hated and feared him as much as he’d craved attention from him. Finding himself stone cold sober in a prison cell, he had tortured himself over and over again with the thought that he had become the man he had always despised. That had certainly spurred him on to do better once he had been released.

Anna is eyeing him curiously, and he forces himself back to the present, attempting to deflect any questions she might have.

“So you don’t find them too horrifying?”

“Oh, no, certainly not.”

Her eyes are shining. For a moment, he believes that he can read the imaginings in her mind; the children that she is creating for the two of them, little blends of them both, burly lads and delicate lasses. And his mother has picked up on it. Hearts in her eyes indeed.

And he knows lying further is futile.

\-- --

His mother pecks him on the cheek when it’s time to leave. Anna is waiting at the gate, having already said her goodbyes, allowing the two a moment of privacy.

“Now, you look after her,” she tells him. “She’s a good girl.”

“She is,” he agrees. “I will.”

“And if you’ve got any sense in that daft brain of yours, you really will start looking for Vera. I can’t say that I approve of divorce, but in this case…” Her eyes drift over to where Anna is standing.

“If I never find her…”

“If you never find her, you still have a woman standing there who thinks that the world begins and ends with you. It’s a rare thing, Johnny. Some people never find it.”

He knows that she didn’t, that the life that she had imagined for herself had disintegrated before her very eyes with a vile drunk as a husband. Perhaps he owes it to his mother as much as to Anna to try to make something of their life.

“No more denial now. You promise to try?”

Her voice pulls him out of his thoughts. He swallows hard, nods.

“That’s my boy. Now, safe trip home. I’ll embarrass you no further. Though I would like to know just exactly when you got it into your head that she was worth fighting for.”

“She’s always been worth fighting for,” he tells her. “She just demanded that I do something about it.” He remembers the way that she’d kissed him with a fire in her eyes on the night that war had broken out. How he had been so powerless to resist her. She had not been taking no for an answer any longer.

“That’s what I like to hear,” she chuckles, “a woman who knows her own mind for the good of you both. Now, you’d better hurry or you’ll miss your train. I’ll write you both very soon.”

He stoops down, presses a kiss to her wrinkled cheek. “Goodbye, Mother. I’ll be back to visit soon.”

“You better had. And if you can bring Anna again….well, that’s all the better.”

John knows he will if he can, if only to play at domesticity for a few short hours with the woman he loves.

\-- --

“You’re quiet,” Anna observes as they walk, tilting her head to one side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” John says quickly.

“You’re sure?”

I’m sure,” says John. “My mother just gave me a lot to think about.”

“Oh?” Anna’s tone is curious. “Like what?”

“You and me, for one. She was like a dog with a bone. She wouldn’t let it drop.”

“I must have been lucky to avoid such talk, then.”

He squeezes her hand. “You certainly were. She wouldn’t dare quiz you so early. She wouldn’t want to give you the wrong impression so soon.”

Anna giggles. “You know I think your mother is an amazing woman. I just hope she approves of me.”

“Believe me she does. She was giving me quite the interrogation in the kitchen.”

“I’m intrigued, Mr. Bates. You’ve got to tell me more now.”

“I will, later, when we’re home.” He stops them in the road. “But I want you to know that I’m going to do whatever I can to free myself of Vera for you.”

“It means a lot to hear that,” she sighs. “I’m happy with whatever we can have, truly, but…”

“But it would be wonderful to have more,” he finishes softly. “I want it all, Anna. A proper courtship where I can take you out on my arm. Marriage.” He colours slightly. “Children.”

She blushes too, probably at the implication of how these children will be made, but her smile is bright. “I would like that very much.”

“This is it, Anna,” he tells her. “No more secrets and lies. I’ll be honest with you and I’ll be honest with my mother. And I want you to always be honest with me in return.”

She nods. “I will. I promise.”

They seal their promise with a kiss, right there in the lane.


End file.
